From Dusk Until Dawn
by Iavasgil
Summary: AU: Twilight w/Diff Bella   Forced to relocate to small-town Washington, Lily finds herself drawn to Edward – the youngest member of the mysterious, aloof Cullen family.  But everything is about to change because she isn't the only one with a secret …
1. Chapter 1: First Sight

**FULL SUMMARY:****  
><strong>_You know that saying: Everything happens for a reason? What if it were true?_**  
><strong>_By all rights, Lilianna Howard (Lily) should be dead by now - multiple times over, if truth be told. Yet she's still here. And it's all because of _them_. Had it not been for _His _curiosity, she wouldn't have this damned secret - the one that's kept her on the run for years ...  
>Forced to relocate to small-town Washington, Lily finds herself drawn to Edward - the youngest member of the mysterious, aloof Cullen family. But everything is about to change because she isn't the only one with a secret ...<br>You know that saying: Curiosity killed the cat ...?_

**A/N:**

I'll be the first to admit that I'm one of those awful, horrible people who doesn't like the character Bella Swan. It's not that she's badly written or wholly un-relatable - quite the opposite. It's just that I'm a mid-twenties, fiercely independent woman who tends toward the more logic-oriented side of the spectrum - often to my own detriment. As such, I've always wondered what it would have been like to have a main character who was not quite so naïve as Bella. Hence this story. I've replaced Bella with a character of my own creation (Lilianna Howard). This story will follow the main plotline of _Twilight _but through the eyes of someone who has seen far too much and can't rightly be taken for anybody's fool.

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_**Twilight **_**- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_**HATE Twilight **_**or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N (Cont.): **All translations for non-English portions of the chapter will be included in the Author's Note (A/N) at the end of the chapter (Thanks Serendipity10!)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1:<strong>

Absently, I stared through the tinted window of the car. Despite the beauty of the lush green landscape racing by, I didn't see it. My mind was elsewhere, in another time and place. All I saw were the faces. Faces of people I had known … some who I had loved. As each flickering image played out before me, my internal dialog sharpened into clarity.

It was just my luck. I'd been happily adjusted and settled into my new home in LA, something I hadn't been able to do for years. I'd been comfortable; that was the problem. My life had never gone smoothly. Turbulent was an understatement. Hell on Earth wasn't much of a stretch at times. One would think that I'd be used to, even expecting, the inevitable fallout … but I never was. I was a classic dreamer. Lost in my own thoughts and hoping for the best despite the painfully recurring pattern.

"How you holdin' up, kid?" His grisly voice broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the real-world. I wanted to scoff at his endearment. Kid? I was old enough to be his grandmother … well age-wise, at least. Physically was another story all together. I hadn't aged in nearly a century. Not since ….

I shrugged and absentmindedly rubbed my fingers over the raised crescent scars on my left wrist. I didn't need to get onto _that_ train of thought right now. It would be a bad idea.

I heard him sigh heavily and grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "_Poor kid. Twice in less than five years."_

The sudden words shocked me and I let out a soft gasp. I turned toward him with a guarded look. He met my stare for a brief moment then returned his eyes to the road. It took me a long second to understand that he hadn't actually spoken. I quickly turned my face back to the window, hoping that he hadn't seen the widening of my eyes. That hadn't happened to me in a very, _very_ long time. In fact, the last time I could remember having heard someone's thoughts had been over forty years ago … in Italy.

I closed my eyes and quickly focused my mind elsewhere. I really couldn't afford to think about _that_. It was dangerous and not just because of the ensuing depression but because of the pain. I took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. When I finally opened my eyes again, the faces were back but they weren't ones I wanted to see. I shook my head slightly from side to side trying to clear it. I couldn't totally erase the memories, but I could manage them, force them into the drawer in the back of my head and lock it up again.

It was the sound of Jason's exasperated sigh that turned the tide of my mental battle, allowing me to shut the drawer and return to the present. For two days, we'd been stuck in the coupe of my _father's_ Porsche on the long scenic drive to rainy depressing Washington. It wouldn't have been so bad if the circumstances hadn't been what they were. I was moving … again. That didn't bother me. I was used to constantly changing locales. When you didn't age, staying in one place for an extended period of time was a bad idea. People noticed.

No, the move wasn't what was bothering me. It was the return of my _luck_. For most of the last half-century, I had managed to avoid speculation and detection by intermittently posing as a teenage foster child. It was a fairly simple act to keep up, since most people didn't get too attached to me, and I could run off to college and 'lose touch' within a few years after I left their care. It allowed me some freedom as well. College was definitely preferable to high school, but it did tend to cost a lot more. And it was rather a pain to forge high school transcripts every five years or so.

Every plan has a downside, though. Occasionally, a family would adopt me. It was harder, when that happened. It meant I had let down my guard and gotten attached, which was a bad thing. Especially since everyone died eventually. Everyone but me …. Besides, it was harder to just disappear and restart the ruse, when there would be people looking for you.

Stephenie and Alexander Howard had lived in sunny Los Angeles, just two blocks from the beach. He was a plastic surgeon, she was a homemaker. They both were avid philanthropists. They had no children of their own. Instead, they acted as foster parents for troubled teens. That was how they met me. I'd been placed in their care shortly after being processed. I was pretending to be fourteen. They were told I was a runaway.

The first time I laid eyes on Stephenie, I knew I was in trouble. I didn't have a choice but to become attached. Everything about her, from her face to her smooth low voice brought back floods of memories. Memories of someone from long ago. Someone I'd loved and lost. Lost in the most devastating way I could imagine – because of me. My aunt – my _real_ aunt.

I was with the Howards for less than a year, when they decided to adopt me. Despite how happy I was, I knew, somewhere deep down, that I was getting in too deep. I knew that getting so close was going to cause much greater pain in the end, when I had to leave. I'd pictured that end many times in the last year. I'd been with the Howards for just under three years now. I knew from experience that I could only fake being normal for about five years. After that, they noticed that I wasn't aging. And, by the time they realized that, it was past time for me to disappear and start the cycle all over again.

The end I'd been picturing was going to be hard on them. I'd reluctantly been setting the stage and collecting the props for six months. Alex was a car collector. Sports cars, specifically – fast ones. I decided that a car accident would be the most reasonable and thorough end I could provide. So, I bonded with Alex over cars. I liked cars. I didn't necessarily know much about them, but I loved driving fast. Three months ago, I'd managed to talk Alex into buying a Porsche. This was the car I was going to use to stage my _accident_. That was the plan. I could never have foreseen that it wouldn't be necessary ….

Two weeks ago Alex and Stephenie had decided to go test drive a Mercedes. Alex was thinking of trading in his for a newer model. That morning was one of the few times I decided to sleep in instead of going with them. I remember being a little worried, when they didn't make it home for lunch. It wasn't like them to be gone so long without calling me. I ignored the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me that something was wrong.

When the doorbell rang, I was a little excited. When Alex had brought home the Porsche, he had rung the bell to get me to the door so I could see the new car in the drive. I assumed that this meant he had gone ahead and upgraded his car. However, I was instantly confused and cautious when I opened the door and saw two police officers.

My _parents_ had been driving south along the Pacific Coast Highway enjoying the mild January weather. A driver going north suffered a heart attack and lost control of his car, which collided head-on with their Mercedes. Both vehicles had been going over sixty miles an hour. No one survived to make it to the hospital.

Their funeral had been a week ago. I vaguely remembered it. The shock of losing _them_ instead of the other way around had sent me into depression. I wasn't used to losing people. I was always the lost, never the loser. I was trapped in my own mind long enough to miss nearly everything that happened afterward. Their lawyer took care of most of the arrangements. I was named as their sole heir. Their possessions were sold with the proceeds placed into a trust fund for me.

I'm not entirely certain why, but I'd insisted on keeping the Porsche. Something about it made me feel connected to them. It hadn't taken much more than an emotional breakdown in the lawyer's office for my demand to be met.

Now, the Porsche and I were off to our new home. Forks, Washington. Alex had grown up in the tiny Olympic Peninsula town. His older sister, Julia Howard, still lived there. She'd been named as my guardian, per the will. In all honesty, I wasn't certain that I would even bother staying there. It was probably a good idea to cut ties with this family now. Before I had the chance to get attached to another member ….

"Did you hear me, Lily?" His voice, louder than normal, startled me.

I hadn't. In fact, I only just realized that we were stopped. I had been remembering. Shaking my head, I quickly looked out the windows to see where we were. A gas station.

"We're here." He was standing outside the car, leaning down to peer in at me through the open door.

I suppressed the grimace that wanted to come to my face. Jason had been Alex's best friend in LA. When I'd insisted on keeping the Porsche and driving it myself to Forks, he'd offered to accompany me. Julia wasn't very good at long car trips, apparently. So, when it was clear I wasn't flying back with her, she'd gone home to get my room ready. They had both been worried about me driving alone through two states. I was only seventeen and I had just lost my parents.

He seemed to be waiting for a response from me, so I nodded my head. My entire body was aching. I wasn't a fan of sitting still for long periods of time. Especially not in a cramped car. When I opened the door and gratefully got out, he straightened up. I didn't turn to look at him. Instead, I carefully stretched my cramped muscles and scanned the area. There wasn't much to see. It was raining … not at all unexpected.

"Lily," I turned and stared at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, "Go inside and pay, please. Get us something to drink too."

I took the money and headed toward the entrance to the convenience store. As I reached the glass door, I heard the sound of another car pulling into the pumps. Instinctively, I looked up and caught sight of a shiny silver Volvo idling to the opposite side from my Porsche. It was probably one of the nicer cars in town, but it didn't hold my interest. I continued on my way into the store, heading to the refrigerated display shelves in the back to grab Jason his soda. Automatically, I also grabbed a bottle of water, knowing that he'd comment if I came back without something for myself.

"That car sure is a beaut'." The man behind the counter said as I set down the drinks and money.

"Yeah, she is." I smiled absently to myself. My car was probably the nicest thing he'd ever seen pass through. I doubted very much that people who could afford Porsches came through Forks often.

"Here you go." He handed me the change, his eyes still glued to the window.

Thanking him, I made my way back to the car. Jason was already inside the cab. As I walked, I let my eyes rove over the Volvo on the other side of the pump. It actually was a pretty car. And in very good condition, which surprised me a bit. A movement near the pump caught my attention. I averted my gaze from the car to focus instead on the driver.

He was … _beautiful_. There was no other way to describe him. He had the kind of face an angel would be jealous of: pale skin, chiseled features, and soft bronze-colored hair. His eyes, which were turned toward the display on the pump, were a strange color – the iris was mostly black, but shot through with very faint streaks of gold.

I had been paying so much attention to his features that the sound of the passenger door of the Porsche opening startled me. I let out an involuntary gasp and tore my eyes away from his face to look toward the sound. I silently scolded myself for being such a ninny and reached out to hold the door open. Just before I went to lower myself in, I let my eyes steal up to the beautiful boy's face again for one last look.

The sound of either the car door or my gasp had gotten his attention. When I brought my eyes back up to his face, he was looking at me. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. Our eyes locked and my breath stuck in my throat. His dark eyes bored into mine, freezing me in place. My mind reeled from the shock and sudden lack of air. I couldn't seem to form a coherent thought … or at least I couldn't understand one. Somewhere, deep down, some part of my mind was screaming at me. But, whatever it was screaming was lost to me. I couldn't comprehend anything but his intense eyes. For a fleeting moment, his reddish brown brows creased downward in a slightly confused look. As though he were expecting something ….

I don't know how long I stood there, staring stupidly at this beautiful boy. To me, it felt like an eternity. Finally, even reluctantly it seemed, his eyes released me. The sudden unexpected rush of air down my throat into my awaiting lungs caused my head to spin slightly. I blinked, dazed and a little disoriented, and finished getting into the car.

I was beyond confused. To my recollection, I had never in my entire life reacted like that to anyone. Sure, there had been times when I had been taken by surprise and had my breath catch when I'd seen a pretty face. But never had I lost that much control and been unable to regain it immediately.

"Hey, are you all right?" I jumped, when I felt Jason's hand touch my shoulder.

"What?" My mind wasn't making sense of the sentence. Of course I wasn't _all right_. My breathing was accelerated and my heart was practically beating through my chest. And I couldn't even figure out why.

"You look a little flushed … are you okay?"

Flushed? I automatically reached up and placed my right hand against my cheek. It was warm – warmer than normal. "Yeah." That was the most I could pull off. If I said any more my breathlessness would cause him alarm.

I turned back to my window and tried to calm my system down. I took a few deep breaths, mentally counting to ten. Lucky for me, Julia's house was only a few minutes from the gas station. The short trip prevented Jason from launching into a round of twenty-questions regarding my excited state.

* * *

><p>My new <em>home<em> was a two-story Colonial with white brick on the bottom level and pale blue siding on the top. There was an intricate glass window in the white front door and two white stone planters with trimmed topiaries on either side of it. The covered porch was fairly shallow, but with enough space for a hanging swing to face out toward the street. Quaint – that was a good description for it.

When I got out of the car, pulling the hood of my black raincoat up, Julia came out of the house to greet us. She was a pretty woman, if a little thin and tall. She looked a lot like Alex had: short black hair, dark brown eyes, and a mischievous quirk to her naturally upturned lips. The similarities didn't stop there. In the limited time I'd known her, I'd come to understand that she shared Alex's generosity, geniality, and compassion. She was a nurse at the local hospital in town. Head nurse, in fact.

When she reached the edge of the covered porch, she cupped her hand over her mouth and called, "Go ahead and pull into the garage, Jason. We can unload the rest from in there."

"Sure thing!" Jason quickly got back into the Porsche and pulled it around the side of the house to the garage entrance.

Being out of the car already, I carefully hurried over the muddy ground to get under cover. Julia was waiting for me. When I finally reached the top step, she extended her arm to wrap it comfortingly around my shoulders. I let her. "Welcome home." She offered me a warm smile and led me through the front door.

"Thanks," I tried to smile back, though I'm not entirely sure I succeeded. My reaction time was still a little off – a result of my recent disorientation.

If she noticed my awkward behavior, she didn't comment. That was one of the nice things about Julia – she wasn't intrusive. She nodded her head at my answer and turned to watch Jason come in the garage door.

"My God!" He exclaimed as he shook the water out of his hair, "I'm surprised you all don't drown up here!"

"Don't be rude." Julia gave him a slightly cross look, which was spoiled entirely when her lip twitched upward into an involuntary smile. "Come on in and dry off. We can wait a little bit to unload the rest of the stuff."

"Naw, I'd rather get it all done with. That way, when I sit down in front of that fireplace to warm up, I don't have to move." He smiled wryly at her and winked.

Suddenly, I felt a little uncomfortable standing there. The interaction between the two of them seemed a bit too intimate for me to be witnessing. Clearing my throat uneasily, I made to walk into the garage. I noticed, from the corner of my eye, that Julia looked a little ruffled after the subtle reminder of my presence. It took only one trip to get my backpack and the remaining two suitcases into my new room.

Neither of them stuck around to help me unpack. I appreciated it, though I feared that part of the motivation was due to them wanting some time to discuss how I was 'holding up'. I knew that, despite her unwillingness to probe too deeply, Julia was curious and a little worried about me. Who wouldn't be? Heck, if I were them, I'd be worried too. As far as they knew, I'd lost both of my families in the last five years. That would be more than enough to send anyone over the edge into crazy-land.

The room wasn't bad. In fact, it was nearly the size of the one I'd had in LA, and painted in the same shade of pale olive. It even had a door that opened directly into the bathroom on the first floor. Julia must have tried her best to make this as familiar to me as possible. She hadn't done much unpacking beyond making up my bed. I was grateful for that – I was a bit nit-picky when it came to how my room was organized. Even so, I didn't have that much to do. I'd only shipped two boxes from LA and had one other suitcase besides the ones I brought with me.

I was fairly exhausted from the long car trip, but I knew I had to unpack at least the most important things right away. Pulling my laptop out of my backpack, I plugged it in, and hooked it up to the phone jack in the wall. I doubted very much that I would be lucky enough to have high-speed wireless internet anywhere in this dismal little town. I would just have to make do with conventional dial-up. I pressed the power button and left it on the desk while flipping open a suitcase and beginning to transfer clothes to the antique wooden dresser.

Once finished, I sat cross-legged on the bed and stared blankly at the walls. My mind wandered aimlessly over anything and everything, not focusing long enough on any one thing specifically. It was a familiar feeling, being aimless. That was a reflection of my entire existence. I wandered. Passing through time with no direction, no connections, no purpose except to _exist_.

I knew I was being harsh with myself. It wasn't like I'd spent my time doing absolutely nothing worthwhile. I'd done a great many things. I'd travelled the world and studied a plethora of subjects. I'd not been idle. But, somehow, despite all the achievements, I still felt as though my life, in the end, would count for nothing. I was lost. Perhaps even forsaken. Something was wrong with me; had been from the very beginning. That was why _they'd_ sought me out …. But even _they_ couldn't fix me. Couldn't make me fit in.

The soft knock on my door pulled me out of my mental wallowing. "Come in."

Julia cracked the door open and peeked her head in, "Hey, Lily. Are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat?"

I wasn't hungry, but I knew refusing food would only cause her to worry more. I nodded my head and got up off the bed to follow her to the dining room. Jason was already seated at the table. The smell of meatloaf and mashed potatoes filled the little room. My stomach turned a little at the sight of the cooked meat, but I didn't comment. I would eat a little bit … just enough to pacify them both. I wasn't the biggest fan of overly cooked meat. I tended to like my food a little more toward the rare side of the spectrum.

Once the food was served, conversation at the table was limited to compliments. I didn't mind. It was probably better for me not to talk much. The more aloof I stayed, the easier this entire ordeal would be. Either way, I wasn't paying much attention. My mind was occupied with other more pressing matters. Matters like whether or not I was going to stay, where I would go if I didn't, and how soon I could manage leaving. It would be impossible and cruel to leave right away. I wasn't the only one who'd lost my family. Julia had lost her brother. She was grieving too. I would have to stay at least long enough to make her feel as though she'd done all she could for me, even though there really was nothing she _could_ do.

A month at least, maybe closer to the end of the school year. That was the soonest I could leave. Any less time and I risked having a search launched for me. Well, now that that was decided, it was time to start hammering out other issues. Like school … and my car. It was likely a bad idea to drive my Porsche to school here. In LA, the car in the parking lot would not be much of a standout. Here, it would stick out like a sore thumb. And the last thing I wanted to do, while I was here, was stick out. I needed to basically be invisible.

"Hey, Jules," Jason had finished chewing, "I was thinking …."

Julia looked up from her plate, "About?"

"Well, Lily is going to have to drive herself to school each morning, right?"

"Yes, probably. There isn't a bus stop this close."

"Don't you think that car of hers is gonna be a bit much sitting in the school parking lot?" His eyebrows were furrowed together.

"Oh," Her lips pursed a bit as she thought, "I see what you mean."

I was grateful that Jason had brought this up. It meant that I didn't have to. "That's okay, I can just walk. The school isn't that far away." I didn't much relish the idea of slogging to school through the pouring rain and fog, but it was a better alternative than driving my flashy car.

"Hmmm …" Julia tapped one long finger against her lips, "Well, I do have that old T-Bird sitting in the garage …." She turned to me and smiled a little guiltily, "It's not in the best of shape, Lily, but you can drive that, if you want to."

Well, that certainly worked out to my advantage. I wouldn't stick out with my flashy car and I wouldn't have to walk through the water each day. "Sure, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, honey. It's been sitting in there for years. Ever since Alex moved to LA." So, it was Alex's old car. Figures.

"Okay, thanks." I returned my eyes to my half-full plate and continued to scoot the leftover food around. My appetite had not returned with the end of my decision making. I suppose that shouldn't have surprised me. The last few weeks had taken a toll. It would take time – a lot of time – to get back onto a typical schedule.

"Oh, that reminds me," Julia snapped her fingers as she remembered, "I have to take Jason to the airport in Port Angeles tomorrow morning. Will you be all right finding the school and all without me?" She looked a little worried.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." The town wasn't that big. If I couldn't find the school on my own, then I had bigger problems to worry about. Not that I didn't have those hanging over me anyway …. I'd had enough of dinner and conversation. I needed to be alone. All this pretending to be happy and social was wearing on my nerves. I pushed my plate away, "Can I be excused? I'd like to get ready for bed."

"Of course, dear. Let me know, if you need anything."

I nodded my head and left the table. Grabbing my toiletries, I went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. As I waited for it to reach temperature, I ran a brush through my long dark hair. The tangles were nearly impossible thanks to the time I'd spent sitting in the car. And, on top of that, the humidity in the air was causing my curls to be even more prominent than normal. The spiraling strands hung limply down my back. As I brushed, I made a cursory scan of my reflection in the mirror. Somehow, I almost expected to see some change in it from the last two days. There weren't any. My skin was a pale ivory as always, my features were fixed, and I hadn't aged. Even my eyes, which had always been a peculiar dark shade of hazel, were the same, if perhaps a little fatigued looking. Not a big surprise.

When the mirror began to fog over, I stripped off my crumpled clothes and climbed gratefully into the hot shower. The water felt good against my cool skin. I almost didn't want to get out, when I was finished. But the warmth had made me sleepy. I hadn't really gotten much rest on the trip here. Porsche didn't design their cars with the idea that you'd need to sleep in them.

Without the noise of the running water filling my ears, the house was quiet. I assumed that meant that Julia and Jason had gone to bed. Well, that suited me just fine. I wouldn't have to say goodnight, if they were already asleep.

My room was frigid compared to the sauna of the bathroom. I scrambled, fast as I could, into my pajamas and crawled into bed. Pulling the covers up practically to my nose, I squirmed about trying to find a comfortable position. My wet hair, sprawled haphazardly over the pillows, didn't help the situation. If it was going to stay so cold in this nightmare of a town, then I was going to have to start blow drying my hair after showering. I groaned internally at the thought. Wouldn't that just be so much _fun ..._

Once I finally got situated into a comfortable position, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. It didn't come quickly, despite my obvious exhaustion. I wanted to blame the insomnia on something as trivial as the sound of the rain beating against my window. But I knew that wasn't the case. My restlessness had very little, if anything, to do with the weather or the temperature of the room. It had more to do with my personal demons. Sleep was one of the few times, when I could not consciously manage and control the memories. Instead, they controlled me ….

* * *

><p>I came awake with a start. The racking gasping sobs ripping themselves up from my chest were muffled into near silence by the pillow I had buried my face into. My body, contorted and sweaty, was engrossingly tangled in the cotton bed-sheets. The dreams had been worse last night … and different. However, the difference, along with the specifics of the night terror, were beyond my remembrance. That was always the way of it. No matter how often I suffered them, the dreams left nothing behind besides the memory of the terror and pain.<p>

It took me a long while before I remembered where I was. The feeling of being somewhere unknown only added to my panic. So much so that the realization of my whereabouts didn't completely diminish the surge. With difficulty, and much internal cursing, I disentangled myself from the sheets. The effort helped to calm my breathing and quiet the sobs, though the tears still ran unchecked down my porcelain cheeks. Once free of the bindings, I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees. Taking deep breaths I made a conscious effort to slow the beating of my heart. The throbbing, pulsing blood echoed like a drum in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.

It took longer than normal to right myself. I attributed that to the change in the dreams. Something about it must have made me even more anxious than usual. After my breathing and heart rate had slowed, I could vaguely make out noises coming from another room. I held my breath and listened carefully, glancing quickly to the clock. It was five in the morning. I wouldn't have expected anyone in the house to be awake at this hour. Being that someone was, I was worried that my waking fit might have attracted attention. Attention and worry that I neither wanted nor needed. Lying about the dreams and the reasons behind them was pretty close to the top of my 'Things-Not-To-Do-List'.

The sounds of someone moving about didn't come any closer. That must have meant I hadn't been loud enough to be heard. I let out a relieved sigh and dropped my head to my knees. At least I had been quiet. That hadn't always been the case. I used to scream myself awake. Scream loud enough to wake neighbors. But that had been years ago. Many years ago.

"Good morning." Julia's voice was quiet but still held a cheerful note.

I heard a grunt and assumed that Jason was his usual chipper self. On the trip from California, I'd always had to drive in the morning. At least, if I'd wanted to get going before eight …. "Is there coffee?"

"Brewing now." A chair scraped loudly along the linoleum floor. "Thanks for coming out, Jason. For bringing her."

"No prob. Least I could do." The chair groaned softly under his weight, "Alex was like a brother to me, too."

"Yeah …."

Careful to make as little noise as possible, I rose from the bed and moved closer to the closed door. I can't say what it was that made me want to eavesdrop, but the compulsion was strong and persistent.

There was a long pause and the sound of a cabinet door being opened and closed. "Hey, Jules …" Another pause, "You're gonna be all right here, right?"

"Sure." The automatic answer came too quickly and told more than was intended. In that single word, I could hear her pain and loss. The hard edges of it grated against my own wounds, making breathing a bit difficult.

"Jules … you know I'm willing to stay, if you need me. You don't have to do this alone. I mean … I know it's just as hard on you as it is on her …."

"I'm fine. You don't need to stay. You've got your job and your friends at home to get back to. It'll be okay." I could almost see the stubborn set of her jaw in the flow of her words. This was going to be even harder than I thought. Her stubbornness was going to present more than a few problems. If she couldn't show how she really felt, how could I be sure when I was going to be able to leave? It wasn't like I could read her mind … not at will.

"Jules …." Jason's voice was pleading.

"I have to go get ready. You'd better pack up. We have to leave in an hour to get you to Port Angeles on time."

At the sound of her footsteps coming closer to my door, I scurried back to bed. I couldn't be sure if she would pass me by or not, but it would be better not to be caught listening. She paused for only the briefest of moments outside my door and then continued up the stairs. On the one hand, I knew I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't. The dreams might come back. On the other, officially getting up was out of the question. If I went out into the main rooms, I'd have to deal with the farewell scenes. Not my idea of a good morning ritual. So, damned if I did and damned if I didn't, I decided to just lay there in the darkness.

The hour long wait for the house to be empty passed quickly. Despite my self-imposed isolation, I wasn't bored. I had plenty to worry about. Like school …. I'd never fit in. It wasn't from lack of trying. It was from lack of caring. Friends weren't a realistic possibility for someone like me. They were kind of like family – only worse. When you were a foster child, the family you got wasn't your choice. If you were disinterested and stand-offish enough, they tended to leave you be. Friends, however, were typically made because you liked something about them. Which meant you chose them. That choice meant all the difference. It was an attachment. Plain and simple. And attachments were dangerous. They left you vulnerable.

As soon as the door closed behind them, I jumped out of bed. There was just over an hour left before I had to leave for school. My sweat-soaked pajamas and tangled mass of curls meant that I would have to take another shower. Well, at least I could make it a fast one. My hair didn't really have to be dry to go to school. It was only going to get wet as soon as I got outside anyway.

* * *

><p>Dripping hair wrapped in a towel, I grabbed whatever clothes were at the top of my drawers and threw them on. At least I had long sleeves. While California was a paradise in summer, spring and parts of fall were abysmal along the coast. The coastal winds were just as effective at chilling to the bone as the ones anywhere else.<p>

Finding socks was my biggest struggle. Somehow, during unpacking what I had, the suitcase containing socks had been misplaced. Fifteen minutes later, I was nearly to the point of giving up and going without them. Though, in the interest of comfort and warm feet, I decided to check one last place. My closet. Of course it was there; crammed in next to the still packed boxes of books and CDs. I must have shoved it in there with everything else at the end of my unpacking efforts the night before.

Finally, dressed and mostly presentable – I still had the towel wrapped securely around my head like a damp turban – I ventured out of my room into the kitchen. I wasn't really a breakfast person but I needed to see if I could find the keys to the T-Bird I would be driving to school. Alex and Stephenie had kept their car keys on a hook near the garage door at home. I hoped that Julia did the same.

Well, there was a set of key hooks by the garage door but, to my dismay, there didn't appear to be any car keys hanging from it. For the briefest of moments, I wondered what I would do, if Julia had misplaced the key to the T-Bird. Driving my car was not a possibility. I glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that walking would make me late – very late. Wonderful. Today was more than meeting up to my usual _luck_ quota.

Perhaps she'd put it by the front door. Upon entering the living room, I spotted a single white envelope propped up against the phone – my name scrawled across its face. Breathing a sigh of relief, I crossed to the table and picked it up. It had a discernable weight, suggesting that there was more than a note inside. Pulling back the unsealed lip to peer inside, I saw two keys, a folded slip of paper, and a twenty-dollar bill. Taking the note out, I flipped it open and scanned the text:

* * *

><p><em>"Lily,<em>

_I didn't have a chance to gas up the car, so I've left some money for you to use. The station is just off the main road, like the school. Please lock up, when you leave. I'll see you later._

_Good luck at school,_

_Julia"_

* * *

><p>Well, that worked for me. I folded the envelope in half and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. My towel-turned-turban was thoroughly soaked, when I removed it from my head and slung it haphazardly over the shower rod. Careful not to yank my hair out from the roots, I pulled a comb quickly through my damp tangled curls. Even if I'd had the time, I was definitely not in the mood to do anything more with the tresses than use a headband to hold them back from my face. It didn't matter what I looked like. It wasn't like I was trying to impress anyone here. The more understated I looked, the less likely I was to draw attention. Presentable as I cared to be, I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my book bag from the desk chair.<p>

Stepping out into the rainy haze was depressing. Though, at least the weather matched my mood. It would have been a bit irritating to have the sun shining brightly on me, when I was still in the mood to grieve. Being rather partial to dry clothes, I quickly locked the knob of the front door and crossed the yard to the storage garage where my incognito vehicle was parked. I nearly shrieked out in frustration, when I reached out to twist the handle only to find it locked. Crap.

Indignant at having to stand out in the rain, I yanked the envelope from my pocket and riffled through its contents looking for a key as I ran back to the porch. I retrieved the smaller key and inserted it into the lock. I growled menacingly under my breath when it wouldn't turn to unlock the door.

_Are you serious?_ I thought as I tried unsuccessfully to force the knob to turn.

Unable to control my temper, I kicked the door jam with my left foot. This couldn't be happening. I hadn't even been here a full day! Breathing slow and deep in an attempt to bring my boiling anger under wraps, I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Gently enough not to damage anything, I removed the useless key from the lock. It wasn't the end of the world. I just needed to look at my options. Option one: I could wait for Julia to get home from the airport. I didn't much like that idea as I would have to wait on the porch. Option two: I could try to break into the house. I quickly discarded that notion, as I didn't think Julia would much appreciate me breaking a window. Option three …. I couldn't think of anything else. The main garage door used an automatic opener, so I couldn't force it to open from the outside.

Involuntarily, my fist clenched around the sharp key in my hand, pricking my fingertips uncomfortably. I was honestly tempted to chuck it off the porch into the mud. As I glared darkly at the inoffensive brass object, something in my brain clicked into place. Glancing up, I stared at the other garage. Perhaps the key wasn't to the house. Maybe it was to the garage. Well, it couldn't hurt to try.

I sprinted back across the wet grass and slid the key smoothly into the locked handle. To my immense relief, the lock turned without protest. Wanting desperately to be out of the drizzling rain, I shoved the door up and hurried inside. The car was black, though the paint was a little faded and spotted with mud. The doors were unlocked. I tossed my bag into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The seats were covered in worn tan leather, but they were comfortable. The inside was clean. Inserting the key into the ignition, I held my breath and turned it. Considering the way the rest of my morning had been going, I half expected the car to choke and refuse to start. Instead, it growled to life, sounding a bit like a snarling panther. The gas gauge showed I had little more than an eighth of a tank. Good thing Julia had left the money.

* * *

><p>As Julia had promised, the gas station was three blocks away just off the main road. It was the same one I'd stopped at the day before. In fact, the same man was behind the counter. I fought back a cringe, when I recognized him. Well, maybe he wouldn't recognize me.<p>

"Hey there. You're the one who was in the Porsche yesterday, right?"

I grimaced – couldn't help it, "Yeah …."

"Not allowed to drive that to school, eh?" He smiled warmly at me, a little too nosey and curious for my taste.

"No." I placed the money on the counter and headed outside to fill up without another word.

Despite my seemingly stubborn insistence to cling to my doomsday attitude, I had to admit that rain in Forks was a little more pleasant than rain in LA. For one thing, there wasn't even a hint of wind to blow the rain askew. The constant drizzle simply fell straight down from the clouds. Moreover, the air held that distinct 'clean' smell that sometimes lacked in the city – probably due to the ever-present pollution. As such, I stood outside of the car as the digital numbers on the pump ticked away.

As I stood there, breathing deeply and trying not to think about the coming day – unsuccessfully, I might add – memories of other first days flitted fitfully through my mind. Some of the worst first days of school I'd ever experienced had been in small towns. Everyone in small town schools had grown up together. They all knew each other's parents – and possibly grandparents. That familiarity tended to cause acceptance issues – not that I ever particularly aimed to be accepted. No, I didn't want to be accepted. I wanted to be ignored. That _never_ happened in small towns. The new student was always a source of curiosity and intrigue at a small school. Even more so, since I would be the new girl from the big city.

_Ugh,_ I thought to myself, _I hate school._

When the handle of the pump stopped the flow of gasoline, the noise jerked me out of my reverie. A bit disgruntled at the prospect of school, I yanked the nozzle out of the tank – a bit harder than was necessary – and returned it to its cradle – again, harder than necessary. I climbed behind the wheel and took a deep breath.

_I can do this. It's just another high school, just like any other,_ I assured myself. Absently, I wondered if there was any possibility that I could slip into my first class unnoticed. Doubtful …. Small schools just adored introducing new students to their classmates on the first day.

Grimly determined to get through this day as fast as possible, I pulled back out onto the street. Sadly, I nearly missed the entrance to the parking lot. There was nothing remarkably distinctive about the school to mark it out as what it was. The clustered group of simple red-brick buildings looked similar to many of the others in the town. Only the sign – which was hidden almost fully behind an overgrown hemlock – told me that this was what I was looking for.

One of the buildings, which was relatively close to the edge of the parking lot, was poorly labeled 'Front Office'. Since I had neither my schedule nor knowledge of where my classes were, I figured I was expected to report there – just like a prisoner at bed check. The rest of the lot was mostly populated – stopping for gas had taken longer than I thought. As such, I decided that I didn't want to park over in the student area only to have to walk through the dripping rain and crowds of curious teenagers just to get to the office. So I simply parked in one of the available spots in front of the building. It was probably off limits to students, but what were they going to do, tow me?

Even though I knew it could make me late, I decided to check my phone. There wouldn't be any messages from friends in LA – I hadn't had any. No, the notices and emails on my phone were from my brokers. I had more than a few spread throughout the world under various names. The money invested in those stocks is what I used to sustain me in between bouts as a foster child. I figured it was a good time to check some balances, since I would soon be needing to draw funds. As I skimmed through the most recent notices, I grumbled silently to myself. The stock market wasn't doing so well right now, which meant that I wasn't making much. As I scanned the amounts and did some quick calculations in my head, I groaned internally. There had never been much in those accounts – a few thousand dollars here and there – but I had been hoping for some more gains. The amount that was in there would hold me comfortably for around two years – barely enough time in between bouts.

Well, this was what I got for checking my accounts. If I wanted good news, I should have skimmed the CNN headlines ….

Instead of sitting there pondering my financial future, I switched my phone to silent mode and shoved it into my backpack. Then, sliding the strap over my arm, I opened the car door and emerged into the hazy wetness. I hurried over the narrow shrubbery-lined stone path and through the glass door into the office.

I sucked in a deep breath as soon as I walked into the tiny, hot little room. Being in here was like reliving a flashback in a sitcom – a really bad seventies flashback. There was a claustrophobically small area set up as a waiting room – the three folding metal chairs crammed into the space would afford little, if any, leg room for occupants. As usual, a long, waist-level counter split the remainder of the room in half; the top of which was cluttered with a plethora of wire-framed baskets filled almost to bursting with various forms. The orange-flecked commercial-grade carpet was worn nearly to the point of visible shabbiness. The walls were … that _must_ have been pale cream at some point … plastered with flyers and notices – many of which were outdated – and bordered at the top with a very seventies set of colored bands in olive green and orange – to match the carpet, of course. There were three normal-sized desks crammed into the undersized space behind the counter and a door leading, presumably, to the principal's office. Another door, standing just to the right of the long counter, was labeled 'Nurse'. Moreover, in addition to the already overstuffed feeling enforced by the present furniture, there were plants in large pots all over the place – like a poor imitation of the perpetual greenery outside.

Behind the counter, sitting at one of the desks and staring intently at an enormous CRT screen, was a woman with straight-from-the-box curly red hair, thick glasses, and a purple tee shirt worn over jeans. I immediately felt overdressed. In LA, you didn't wear shabby clothes to school. Even the kids attempting a 'grunge' look wore high-grade clothes. The principal and many of the teachers wore suits to work. My current wardrobe reflected this attitude. Very few things in it did not bear some form of designer label and even the smallest item in it would cost twice what this woman's entire outfit would tally to.

_Great_, I thought sarcastically. _Yet something else that is going to stand out._

Despite the time I'd spent standing in front of the counter, the woman seemed not to notice my presence. I didn't particularly feel like walking into my first class late – even _with_ an office-written excuse, so I quite deliberately cleared my throat.

The woman looked up, a little perplexed, and focused her small brown eyes on me.

I smiled a little, trying to seem both shy and nervous, "Excuse me, I'm Lilianna Howard."

Recognition flickered in her eyes for a brief moment before a warm, welcoming smile spread across her face.

Great, I was not only known but also a subject of note here. That probably meant that my teachers would have been briefed on my situation.

"Oh, yes. Hello, dear. Welcome to Forks High School. I'm Mrs. Cope." She got up from behind her monstrous computer screen and swerved through the furniture to reach the counter opposite me. "Let me get you your schedule …."

She riffled through a precariously angled stack of papers for a few moments before forcibly yanking several pieces out from the middle.

"Here we are." She handed me the schedule, "Oh, you'll be needing a map as well." She turned and snatched up a piece of paper from the top of a nearby pile.

For the next several minutes, she kindly explained my schedule and highlighted the best routes to each of my classes for me. I was grateful that I wouldn't have to walk around with the map plastered to the front of my face all day.

Once the topic of my schedule and routes had been thoroughly exhausted, she handed me a small slip of paper, "Now, you'll need to get this signed by all of your teachers today. You can bring it in after school or tomorrow morning. Your teachers have your books and they'll let you know of anything you need to do. Do you have any other questions?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you." I smiled shyly again and gathered the papers together.

"All right, dear. You have a good day and I hope you like it here."

I was in a hurry at this point to get to my first class. If I was lucky, I could be there _before_ the tardy bell rang.

There were very few students out in the grounds this close to class time. I followed a couple unisex black raincoats through the door into my first class. They paused momentarily to hang their dripping coats on a row of hooks by the door. I copied them as soon as there was space available and then made my way over to the teacher's desk.

Mr. Mason – according to the prominent nameplate on his desk – looked a little perplexed when I quietly introduced myself and handed him the form he needed to sign. The tardy bell rang as he applied his signature to the slip and handed me two books – one a classic thick-covered and worn textbook and the other a small paperback copy of _Wuthering Heights_ – and a single page syllabus. To my great relief, he didn't bother introducing me to the class. Instead, he directed me to a seat in the back of the room and went back to studying the sheets of paper in front of him – graded quizzes, it looked like.

As was to be expected, nearly every single eye in the classroom followed my quiet procession. I did my best to ignore the stares and get to my seat without tripping over the numerous haphazardly strewn backpacks lying hither and thither in the aisle.

I dropped gratefully into my seat just as the teacher stood to begin the lesson.

I only half-listened to his monotonic lecture as I skimmed over the reading list provided on the back of the syllabus. The typical fare was there: Chaucer, Faulkner, Austen, Bronte, Shakespeare …. I had read everything on the list so many times that I didn't care to keep track anymore. Though, what I could have expected from a junior-level English class that would be a challenge was beyond me.

I took a deep calming breath as I schooled my brief irritation. There really was nothing that I could do about the curriculum and I knew it. However, I wasn't looking forward to sitting through another round of repetitious lectures.

Even so, I forced myself to pay at least a little attention to the teacher's prattling. I would be sorry, if I didn't.

The hour passed quickly, thankfully. I quietly packed up my bag at the end, intent on hurrying to my next class.

"Hi. You must be Lilianna Howard."

I looked up to see a tall gangly teenage boy with acne and oil-slick black hair smiling sheepishly at me.

"It's Lily," I corrected automatically. When I had taken this name, I'd done so with the intent of being called by the proper full name. However, Stephenie had quickly nicknamed me 'Lily' and, being unable to refuse her anything, the moniker had stuck.

He held out his hand to shake mine, "Oh, okay. Nice to meet you, Lily. My name is Eric. Eric Yorkie."

I eyed his hand dubiously for a quick second before deciding that it would be unduly rude to refuse to shake it. So, with a grudging effort, I took his hand, gave it a brief squeeze, and withdrew. "Hi."

"What's your next class?"

_My god!_ I thought, _Is everyone here going to be this nosey?_

I riffled through my backpack until I came up with my schedule. "Government with Jefferson," I said.

"Ah, that's in building six. I'm headed toward building four. I could show you the way, if you want."

"Uh … sure." I couldn't exactly refuse. Yet again, common courtesy stayed my irritation. He was the overly-friendly chess club type. I could tell that he was going to be a constant nuisance.

I finished packing my bag and went to retrieve my jacket. He followed suit. We proceeded out into the drizzling weather and he continued to prattle away.

"So, you're from LA, huh?"

"Yeah."

"So, what's it like?"

"Uh …." I wasn't exactly sure what this child meant. "It's a lot bigger … doesn't rain as much there."

"Wow. What must that be like?"

He seemed to mean it as a rhetorical question, but I answered nonetheless.

"Sunny."

"You don't look all that tan …," he said, rather unsubtly.

I quickly schooled my face so that none of the outrage showed. _Of course_ I wasn't tanned! You had to be able to _change_ to get a tan! Instead of lashing out at this insignificant boy with the injured rage I'd been harboring for decades, I took a deep breath and carefully moderated my tone.

"Yeah, well, maybe that's why they kicked me out."

I meant the statement to come through as indignant as well as condescending, but apparently my skills weren't with me today. He simply looked confused.

"I thought …."

We reached building six at that moment which abruptly ended the round of twenty-questions. I couldn't have been more relieved. With sudden revulsion, I realized that the remainder of my day was going to follow along the same track. I had hoped for anonymity but what I got was notoriety.

"Thanks. I need to get inside," I said curtly.

"Uh, sure. Well … good luck. Maybe we'll have some other classes together."

He actually looked _hopeful!_

I smiled in as detached and mundanely polite a way as I could manage and hurried inside the door. Why was it that I always got exactly the opposite of what I wanted? Even if I had been a _normal_ teenager, I can't imagine that I would have welcomed attentions from that boy. Needy and prying weren't exactly on the top of my list of favorite attributes.

Government passed in the same way as English before it. The subject was familiar … boring. This teacher, too, refrained from making a spectacle of me in front of my _peers_.

When the bell rang, my impromptu and unwelcome escort morphed to include two new members – a boy and a girl. Beyond the common courtesy of answering their ever-probing questions and quietly correcting them on the usage of my nickname, I paid them little attention. It seemed no matter what I wanted I was bound to have some level of social interaction at this school. I suppose I should have expected that, what with a staggeringly small student population of only three-hundred and fifty-seven – fifty-eight including myself.

Unfortunately, my _luck_ returned with a vengeance in Trigonometry. The teacher insisted on me introducing myself to the class and telling them a little about myself. I growled internally as I stood in front of the class and uttered a few generic words of introduction. I did my best to appear shy but I fear that my underlying irritation twisted my tone more toward the disinterested portion of the spectrum. I suppose that worked, either way. The teacher, dissatisfied with my curt introduction asked me a few questions. I answered them as briefly as I could manage, blushing now out of anger rather than feigned embarrassment.

As soon as he was done parading me around in front of the other students, he directed me to a seat in the second row. I took it reluctantly, knowing that I was in for a rough semester with this teacher. For some reason, he had decided to dislike me immediately.

In an attempt to placate him, I dutifully took notes and did my best to look both attentive and engrossed. Most teachers appreciated that. They thought that their subject was the most important one in a student's curriculum and welcomed students who shared their passion. It wasn't like I was trying to be noticed or singled out by this man, but it would make everything a little easier if he didn't absolutely despise me.

My next class – French with Madame Goldfarb – was going to be my least favorite this year, and I knew it. I always despised my language courses but French most of all – probably because I had actually grown up speaking the language. High school language courses were always taught by people who could only barely pass for fluent in any country where the language was spoken nationally. I had yet to come across a public school foreign language teacher whose pronunciation and grasp of the language they taught would be sufficient for conversing with a native speaker.

My trek cross-campus toward Building One was populated with the usual smattering of curious students who happened to be brave enough to approach me. So, yet again, I did a round of moniker corrections and very vague polite chitchat. I couldn't – had I even wanted to – remember any of their names. It didn't matter, anyway. Soon enough, most of these people would get over the novelty of a new student and I wouldn't have to converse with any of them again.

Mme Goldfarb was a squat portly woman with short graying blonde hair, flat blue eyes and the most hideous Boston accent I had ever encountered – and I had even lived in Boston. For some reason – well beyond my understanding – I decided to 'cut to the chase' with this teacher. Normally, I disguised my proficiency in a language from my teachers. It made them notice me less. I presume my rash behavior was the result of a lingering resentment at the trigonometry teacher for having insisted making an exhibition of me last hour. Nevertheless, I knew better and should have refrained from doing as I did.

In a bit of a temper and with very little patience for niceties and decorum, I walked directly over to the teacher – who was in the middle of a conversation with another student at the time. I cleared my throat in a very assertive manner.

Mme Goldfarb's tiny matte blue eyes widened for the briefest of moments – as though shocked that anyone would be so rude as to interrupt her conversation – and then narrowed in irritation. "Excusez-moi, mais j'étais au milieu d'une conversation."

Her accent was so atrocious that I very nearly laughed at her. I could tell, from her tone, that she had meant to put me at a disadvantage by speaking quickly in a language she was sure no student would be fluent in.

Instead, I pressed my advantage. "Oui, je peux voir. Je suis Lilianna Howard. On m'a dit de me présenter et de vous faire signer ce formulaire."

My accent and pronunciation were perfect, as I knew she could hear. Furthermore, from the widening of her eyes, I could tell that she was impressed by my grasp of the language.

Her mouth worked silently for a few seconds as she processed what I said. Apparently, I'd flustered her enough, because she switched to English, "I see. You are my new student? Julia's niece?"

For some reason, I just wanted to best this inconsequential woman at something. My own native tongue seemed a good topic. Therefore, with smugness and a very Parisian contempt leaking liberally from my voice, I answered her in French. "Oui, je le suis."

"I see ...," her face – which had started out so superior and confident – now resembled little more than a stoic mask of confused irritation. "Have you studied elsewhere? Or have you been to France?"

"Oui." Let her think of _that_ what she will.

"Well … good. You may collect your form at the end of class." She took the piece of paper I proffered, "Please take your seat."

Looking at her slightly perplexed facial expression, my smugness faded away to be replaced by shame. I knew better than this. Showing off to this woman for no other reason than to make myself superior was a childish thing to do. I had somehow justified my response as just desserts for her initial low assessment of my worth, but it made me no better than her. Furthermore, it was bound to spawn consequences; unfortunate ones.

I decided that I needed to get my books, sit down, and shut up. If I had not managed to make this woman hate me already, then it was more fortune than I had a right to.

As she took her place behind her desk, she made an offhanded gesture to indicate a stack of items at the edge.

"Your books, Miss Howard."

"Thank you." I took them, gratefully, and scurried to the back of the room to find a seat. Maybe if I could get out of this woman's regular line of sight, I could fade from her mind as well.

As I had already blown my cover for this class, I didn't bother taking notes. Instead, I spent the full hour contemplating my own stupidity. I paid no attention to the rest of the students at all – they didn't matter in the least. I now had much bigger problems. As the saying goes: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; and I had definitely given this teacher a reason to feel scorned.

I hadn't been keeping good track of the lesson, so I was surprised to hear my name called – rather loudly. It took me a second to realize that the teacher was introducing me to the class. Everyone had turned to look at me, their faces expectant.

_What did I miss?_ I tried to scan through my memory quickly, but I hadn't caught whatever had preceded my name.

"Pardonnez-moi, madame." I blushed in embarrassment and irritation. This was _my_ just desserts. I should have been paying at least a modicum of attention. "Qu'avez-vous dit?" I hated having to ask this woman to repeat herself.

She smiled in a smugly superior way. "Will you please come up here and introduce yourself? Tell us a bit about yourself: where you came from, why you moved to Forks."

Now this was tacky, and she knew it. She was not only trying to make a spectacle of me, she was intentionally trying to cause me emotional harm. She knew damn well why I had moved to Forks. All of the teachers here did.

I gave her a glare that would have done Medusa proud.

For the briefest of moments, her expression faltered. Then, her smug resolve returned and she motioned me up to the front of the class.

I stood stiffly, my movements forced and far less coordinated than normal. I could feel them, the traitor tears, beginning to coalesce in my eyes. I tried to keep my eyes wide, knowing that doing so would help little in stymieing them and would add only to an appearance of despair or fright on my face. There was little I could do about the waterworks. My temper and my tear ducts were hardwired together within my head.

It seemed an eternity before I reached the front of the classroom. I could feel each and every pair of eyes on me. I could feel their curiosity, their judgment of me. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered me. However, I despised letting others see me cry. Their assessments of me would include this embarrassing weakness. They would jump to the worst conclusions, no doubt. None of them understood – or even cared to try.

As I came level with her, I increased the severity of my glare at this venomous spiteful harpy. Something about my expression – or the intensity of it – caused her sallow skin to pale ever so slightly. That gave me some small measure of pleasure.

Taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I turned to face the class. There were only twenty-two students seated at the uncomfortable little desks. I did my best to avoid their eyes. It would make this whole ordeal go better.

"I'm Lily Howard. I moved here from LA just yesterday." I paused, hoping that she would let bygones be bygones.

She didn't.

"And what brings you here to Forks?" Her smile was sickeningly sweet, inquisitive, and entirely fake.

My wet eyes suddenly itched. I blinked them quickly a few times. I couldn't believe she was making me do this.

"I moved here to live with my aunt," the words came out clipped.

"Oh, and why is that?"

My vision was swimming – the edges blurred and taking on a distinct reddish tone. Before I could bring myself to simply snap out an answer, my eyes were suddenly filled with unbidden images. I had not been at the accident, but my imagination, nevertheless, could more than compensate for the lack of actual witness. As a result, I could _see_ the twisted broken metal of their once pristine Mercedes, the ballooned expanse of activated airbags ….

I couldn't breathe. My throat, which had been only tense in the beginning, seized up and halted the flow of air to my lungs. I could hear the thunder of blood pounding out a less and less steady rhythm in my ears. My fingertips tingled painfully; protesting the decreased level of oxygen in my bloodstream.

I couldn't get rid of the images. I was trying – desperately. On one level, I knew that this evil gargoyle of a woman and her gaggle of overly curious minions were awaiting an answer. On another, I was waging a losing battle within my own head. I was scrambling furiously within my own mind to beat back these false, lying images. But my efforts were being thwarted by my own subconscious. As fast as I was brushing the terrifying visions aside, my imagination was pumping out new ones – more gruesome than the last.

I gritted my teeth in a futile effort to put more force behind my mental fortifications – not that the action would produce any results whatsoever.

"Miss Howard?"

"I ... my …." I couldn't get much more out. I wanted to. It felt as though if I could only speak the words that hurt on a level so intense they would surely rip my body asunder, then these deceitful hallucinations would cease. Then my mind would be mine again.

"Is something the matter, dear?" I registered a heightened level of concern in her wheedling nasal voice. It was genuine. I must look more a mess on the outside than I felt I did.

"I … No, I'm fine." The answer was automatic – having been bred to familiarity over the decades. This mundane normal response did something for me. Physically, I had not had enough air to finish the statement. However, the fact that I had had to say this repeatedly for long, long years had ingrained the need to finish the statement. So, in order to do so, my body had taken a much-needed breath.

With that fresh burst of air, my mind began to calm. The images were not gone, but I could see through them … past them now. Sensation was slowly returning. I could feel again the tingling of my fingertips, but I now recognized the cause stemmed from the stiff clenching of my fists and my nails digging painfully into my palm. Through effort I managed to loosen my grip.

As I did so, I took a cursory scan of my surroundings. Not much registered. I noted the renovated expression of concern and chagrin on the teacher's rotund face and the overall general expectancy on those of the students – all save one. My eyes passed over her only briefly but, even in that brevity, I noticed her. Something about the contrast of shortly cropped jet black hair, extremely pale skin and eyes nearly the same color black as her hair caught my attention.

Deliberately, carefully, I drew another breath through clenched teeth. I'd had enough of this charade – and _more_ than enough of this teacher. Prudently, I weighed my words before allowing them to pass my lips. "My aunt took me in after the accident." I closed my eyes, vainly desperate to escape the looks of feigned compassion and understanding on the faces around me.

"Oh … I see." The woman had the _nerve_ to attempt surprise.

I opened my eyes and glared into hers. "May I be excused?"

"Uh … yes, of course." She bent quickly over the edge of her desk, snatched the form I cared so little about that I'd forgotten it, signed it with an overly opulent flourish of her pen, and handed it to me.

I used as much control as I could manage but still ripped the edge of the form when I took it from her. What I wanted more than anything at this particular moment was to run —to abandon this school and its herd of lackluster denizens, go back to Julia's house, gather what belongings mattered, get in the Porsche, and go.

The bell tolled – the nasal buzzing only vaguely registering over my irritated outrage – as I returned to my appointed desk to retrieve my backpack. In spite of my frantic need to get the Hell out of this classroom, I couldn't compose myself enough to make a quick escape. Instead, my hands – which now bore the reddened, half-crescent indents from my nails – fumbled causing me to nearly drop my books more than once before I managed to shove them into the confines of the black canvas bag.

When I finally straightened to leave, the classroom was empty. Perhaps my clumsiness-induced delay had been providential in some way. At least I would not have students attempting to catch up with me seeking an elaboration on my terse answer regarding the accident.

I had absolutely _no_ interest in food but avoiding the cafeteria after that embarrassing display in the French room might be a bit too conspicuous. So, with heavy feet, I angled toward the long low building which was being swarmed by hungry teenagers. When I walked in, I took a quick appraisal of my surroundings – an old habit stemming from harder times. There were maybe one-hundred and fifty children in the narrow rectangular room crammed with round picnic-esque tables. A metal counter filled with steaming pans of whatever concoctions were being served took up half of one of the long walls. Two workers stood behind it wielding large metal spoons meant – presumably – to serve the food to the passing students.

Just inside the doorway was another counter – much smaller and holding an antiquated cash register manned by a skinny woman with stringy blonde hair. A metal rolling cart stacked precariously with plastic plates and individually-wrapped sporks was positioned behind her. The smell of the food nearly made me ill. School food had _always_ been unbearable. However, my bad mood made the fare seem even worse than normal. As I stood in line behind a couple of babbling girls – freshman, most likely – I spied something that looked to be a little more promising. Just past the end of the hot food station was a lonely and sad looking rolling cart with a meager assortment of vegetables. That must be the salad bar.

Once through the line, I walked right past the heap of steaming offerings toward the greenery. There wasn't much there, but at least I knew that nothing here would be more than it appeared. I didn't have food allergies, per se, but there were some things that I just could not stomach. I filled the little plate I'd been given with a little of everything and then turned to find a table to sit at.

"Lily!"

My eyes sought out the person who had called me.

I recognized the girl who had spoken – though I couldn't remember her name, even had I cared to. She had been in my Trigonometry class, the period before. She was quite petite with wildly curly dark brown hair which made up for some of the height lacking in her physique.

"Come sit with us."

She was standing next to a nearly full table of students. Even when I nodded assent, she continued to stand and wave me over. It looked to me as though she was using inviting me to sit with her as an excuse to get attention from everyone in the cafeteria. That didn't endear her to me in the slightest, but at least I knew that she was more than likely to attempt to pull attention onto herself at the table. That _might_ provide somewhat of a breather for me.

As soon as I was seated, she proceeded to go through a round of introductions. At least she used the correct name. I immediately forgot all of their names as soon as they left her mouth. It didn't really matter all that much, anyway. When she launched into a brief biography of me – despite my presence – I tuned her out and let my eyes wander. I wasn't looking for somewhere else to sit. I was scoping the exits.

This side of the cafeteria was packed nearly full – that made sense, given the proximity of the food and entrance – while the density of populated tables dwindled the further into the room one went. Even so, there were only a handful of empty tables. The odd thing, however, was the location of a majority of these unpopulated tables.

On the extreme opposite side of the room, nestled into the far corner, was one occupied table where sat a handful of people I only saw from the corner of my eye. The next inhabited table was two spaces away from the corner one. In fact, there seemed to be a barrier – a shield, if you will – of empty tables between the peopled tables and that single corner table. It was almost like everyone else didn't want to sit near those people.

I didn't understand this. In a school with such a staggeringly small population, this level of segregation seemed out of place. What could make these annoyingly inquisitive adolescents shun someone?

In all honestly, I shouldn't have cared. But curiosity got the better of me. So, in the interest of quenching this thirst for understanding, I looked at the people sitting alone in their isolated sanctuary.

I tried to be circumspect about examining them. After all, staring at complete strangers only invited them to stare back. Instead of looking directly at them, I began observation over the top of the apple I was peeling the produce sticker off of.

There were five of them. There was a tray of untouched food sitting in front of each one, though they were neither talking nor eating. For a wonder they weren't gawking at me like the rest of the populace. In fact, they seemed to be looking away – away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything and everything as far as I could tell. As my eyes rose from the table to their faces, time seemed to stop. I could hear the flow of air into my lungs, the thud of blood in my ears. Everything else faded away.

Of the five, three were male and two female. While none of them shared features, there was still something _similar_ about them.

The most prominent of the group were seated in the two chairs directly in my line of sight – a boy and a girl. My eyes were first drawn to the girl. Tall, blonde, and enviably statuesque – as though she had been sculpted as a rival for Aphrodite. It was a ridiculous emotion – after all, most beautiful faces were little more than that – but I couldn't help feeling a surge of jealousy. No one had the right to be so beautiful. Beauty like that was reserved for the realm of fantasy and imagination. The boy – though he seemed to hardly fit the stereotype – next to her was as masculine as she was feminine. His arms and torso – which were the only portions of his physique visible – were muscled far beyond those of any adolescent I had ever encountered. Muscles like that were typically the result of serious training or obsession. His curly black hair was cut short and seemed almost out of place when compared to the overt masculinity of his form.

A movement from one of the others drew my attention. The blond boy – who still looked less a child than many of the others in the room – had shifted slightly to watch a girl who was standing at the closest end of the next occupied table. He was leaner than his burly companion and yet he still conveyed the impression of strength – though lithely so, as opposed to the brutish representation of his friend. I watched him stare coldly at the little blonde girl a few feet away from him. Something about that look seemed odd, familiar. As though I'd seen it before …

A little unnerved by his expression, I let my gaze wander over his shoulder to the other girl. I recognized her. She was the pixie-like, disinterested girl from my French class. Now that I had the opportunity to actually examine her, I realized that she, too, was beautiful – though not nearly as stunning as her blonde counterpart. She was small – much smaller than the others seated with her. Even her features – though sharp and elfin in presentation – were small. More so than any of her cohorts, she radiated a childlike manifestation.

I continued to stare at the tiny girl for a long moment. Something about the extremity of her coloring drew my attention. As I did so, I attempted to analyze the root of the strange similarity I felt between each of them. Their faces, while entirely different in shape and feature, were stunningly gorgeous. They were, by far, the most beautiful people I had seen in a long time. In fact, I was not sure I had seen faces this perfect except in paintings or in heavily-modified magazines.

Suddenly, as I briefly scanned the faces of the four I'd already examined, I recognized the source of the similarity I noticed. Every single one of them was the same exact shade of pale white. The shock of this made me glance around my own table at the faces of the students I was ignoring. I wanted to be sure that the pallor was not something shared by a majority of the population in this dank, dark corner of the world. No, it wasn't. The palest person here was me, and I knew _exactly_ why I had pasty-white skin ….

I glanced back up at the impish girl from my French class and then to her beautiful blonde companion. Now that I was being fully observant, I noticed that there were other similarities. They all had very dark eyes – almost black, even from this distance. Moreover, they had dark shadows under their midnight eyes – shadows reminiscent of sleepless nights or nearly-healed bruises. That disconcerting pigmentation was the only one to be seen on their faces. The rest of their skin – save a small beauty mark on the blonde girl's face – was perfectly flawless.

Another movement – a kick aimed at the blond boy from the one I had yet to scrutinize – drew my eyes to the remaining member of the isolated cloister. I only saw his profile, as his seat was angled mostly away from me. He was glaring somewhat condescendingly at the blond boy across from him and a frown seemed to touch the corner of his mouth. I felt a vague confusion as I attempted to assess his face. He wasn't oriented so that my analysis was easy and yet I felt as though there was something _very_ familiar about him. His carelessly disarrayed hair had a strange reddish-brown tint under the florescent lighting – almost as though the locks were on fire. He had the same pale complexion as the others. His eyes were not turned toward me, so I could not be sure of their coloring. However, I felt that they, too, must share the same dark shade. He was visibly younger than the others – his frame appeared almost lanky in comparison – more boyish, though he too didn't seem as young as the others here.

When the skinny small girl rose with her tray – completely untouched, as far as I could see – I quickly lowered my gaze. I didn't wish to get caught ogling them – especially since they were being polite enough not to ogle me. Even so, I watched her from beneath the shelter of my eyelashes. She moved quickly, with a grace that seemed more fitting for a dancer or runway model. She had dumped her tray and flitted out the door into the misting rain faster than I would have thought possible – she had not appeared flustered or agitated.

My eyes darted back to the others as soon as she was out of sight. They still sat, unmoving and ostensibly uncaring.

"What _are_ you staring at?"

I jumped. The diminutive, curly-haired girl from earlier was looking between me and the table of perfect, unchanging people.

"I … Nothing." I tried to look as though I had been doing nothing more than inspecting the peel of my apple.

She giggled, rather loudly. She stole a quick glance toward the far corner and leaned closer to me.

"Those are the Cullens."

She motioned with her chin and I allowed myself to glance toward them.

As my eyes found the table, he looked at her – the boyish one who I hadn't gotten to examine closely. He looked at my neighbor for only the most fleeting of seconds and then flickered his glance to mine.

Even before his dark eyes met mine, I had recognized him. The boy from the gas station. I had tried, futilely to look away before he caught me staring. Nevertheless, I had been slower than him.

Regardless of prior experience, I was still caught entirely off guard when his deep eyes bore into mine. Even from across the crowded lunchroom, I could clearly see them – the iris held no hint of gold today. Once more, my throat ceased all passage of oxygen and my mind went dim. I hadn't anticipated experiencing this phenomenon again – especially since the shock of first sight had been overcome.

Unlike the last time, his eyes seemed to release me sooner – or perhaps I maintained some recognition of time on this occasion. I could feel the flush of embarrassment and confusion warm my face. Much like the last time, his tentative gaze had revealed no glimmer of interest. The cursory glance had reminded me of the involuntary response someone had when their name was called. But he couldn't have heard her all the way across the cafeteria ….

My neighbor giggled again – this time in embarrassment – and lowered her eyes to the table. I did likewise.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen. And Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen. They all live together with Doctor Cullen and his wife," she said this under her breath, as though imparting some deep and disturbing secret. Through my own chagrin and confusion, I recognized a subtle change in the tenor of her voice when she said the first name.

I turned my face toward her, as though I was engrossed in her revelations. Surreptitiously, I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy. He was looking determinedly down at his tray. His pale hands were busy picking a bagel to pieces – none of which he ate. As I looked, it seemed as though his mouth was moving very fast yet his perfectly shaped lips were barely open. None of those seated at his table were paying him any attention, and yet I felt that he was speaking to them under his breath. Much like my neighbor was doing to me.

_Emmett? Rosalie?_ I had heard the name Edward a few times throughout the years – though not recently. Jasper wasn't common, but it had always been a southern name. I had never met a Rosalie in my life. In fact, I couldn't even remember a fictional character with that name. I glanced at the beautiful blonde for an instant. _Maybe it's a family name …?_

I returned my gaze to my neighbor's face.

She sighed – as though in feigned despair, "They are great eye candy but don't waste your time." She gave me a significant look, "They're all _together_."

Whatever she meant went completely over my head, "Together?"

"Yeah! Emmett and Rosalie and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they _live_ together!"

Ah, now I understood. She meant that they were coupled. The tone of her voice conveyed her opinion of that fact. From a current-times standpoint, I could see the sense of her condemnation. However, I had come from a time when marrying your distant cousin wasn't unheard of.

I glanced back at the isolated table, "They don't look related …"

"Oh, they're not. Doctor Cullen is really young – in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister – twins, the blondes – and they're foster children."

I scrutinized the faces of the two blondes once again. "They look a bit too old to be foster children." I should know ….

"They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen. But they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

My heart skipped a beat.

_Their aunt._

Before I could stop myself, my heart went out to the Hale twins and their aunt, Mrs. Cullen. I knew something of having to be raised by in-laws. _My_ aunt had been the kindest, most understanding person in the entire world. I felt a little jealous of them as well. At least their aunt was around to raise them until they were of age …

Something on my face must have tipped my neighbor off that I was not handling the topic well.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." I could hear the lie clear in my voice.

"Wha … oh." Her cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … I mean …."

I shook my head and lowered my eyes to the table. I could feel the faint prickle of tears trying to worm their way out. I didn't want to deal with that.

When I raised my eyes back from the tabletop, I noticed the uncomfortable look on the curly-girl's face. She was nervously twirling a clump of her hair between her thumb and forefinger. Trying to cause as little drama as possible, I smiled weakly at her and inclined my head toward the distant table, "Are they new? They don't seem to have many friends ..."

"No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

_Ah, newcomers – just like me._ I peeked again at the people I seemed to share so much in common with.

My eyes raked over the angelic features of the stunning blonde girl again. However, I couldn't keep them there. She was, by far, the most noticeable of the remaining quartet – dressed to impress and carrying herself like she _knew _everyone was eyeing her – but, for some unexplainable reason, I felt drawn to the boy I'd seen at the gas station. It was likely a case of unsatisfied curiosity – I still didn't know why I reacted to him like I did.

His eyes were on me when I finally met them. Unlike the last two times, there was a hint of interest in his expression … expectation. I'd seen a shadow of this look at the pumps, but I'd been so flustered that I hadn't had time to process its cause.

I felt my eyes widen as I realized that he'd seen me staring at his sister. I dropped my eyes quickly, knowing that my cheeks were crimson with barely-restrained embarrassment. What was I doing? I'd just given him a very good reason to start staring at me!

I quietly continued to chastise myself until I heard my neighbor sniff loudly. Wondering what could cause this I glanced to her face and saw she was watching the far table from the corner of her eye. I peeked again and saw that the boy was still staring at me.

_Crap._

I couldn't tell for certain, since I was trying _not_ to be noticed, but I think he saw my quick glimpse. I was pretty sure I knew which one he was – seeing as how the burly brunette was sitting closer to the perfect blonde than he was – but I thought I would make sure. "Which one is the reddish-haired boy?" I placed my right hand against my neck, causing my hair to fan out between my face and his – at least it would provide some minor cover.

"That would be Edward – he's gorgeous, obviously. But, like I said, don't bother. He doesn't date. Apparently, none of the girls here are good looking enough for him." Her tone made it very clear that she was harboring some resentment on this front – meaning she'd asked and he'd turned her down.

I tried not to smirk or look back at him – I only succeeded on the first count.

He wasn't looking at me anymore, his face angled down as though he were reading the tabletop. Even so, from the faint crook at the corner of his mouth, it appeared as though he were smiling. I wondered what the joke was – couldn't help it. His grin – though mostly obscured from my line of sight – was contagious in its own appealing way.

_Eye candy, indeed._

I did my best to keep my face pointing toward one of the kids at my table. The easiest to watch was a shy dark-haired girl with glasses. She would meet my eyes only long enough to answer or ask a question and then resume her downward gaze. I liked this about her. I appreciated that she was trying to give me my space, even if only out of her own discomfort.

I continued picking at the apple in my hands for the rest of the lunch period. I managed – though only just – to keep my eyes on the adolescents at my own table. I did make a slip when the remaining four muses at the distant table took their leave of the cafeteria. I couldn't help watching them – specifically the boy who caused such different reactions from me. So little nowadays was even notable – I told myself that this was why I was interested. This focused concentration didn't much improve my mood.

I was grateful when the bell finally rang – the questions had started straying toward the more personal end of the spectrum where I was unwilling to go. As soon as the others began fumbling around their chairs for discarded backpacks, I very pointedly attached myself to the shy dark-haired girl. I figured her presence in my retinue would provide some relief on a social level. She smiled meekly and asked where my next class was. It turned out that we both had biology the next hour. This made me a little happier – if I could sit with her, I wouldn't have to worry about chitchatting all the time.

The others in the group – seeing I was already occupied with talking to the quiet one – filtered off in groups of two and three toward their classrooms. None of them accompanied our quiet procession. She didn't ask questions or chatter. She was content merely to be a silent guide.

The drizzle was beginning to turn more determined as we meandered to the building where science classes were held. The room looked much as I expected – two columns of five black-topped lab tables, two uncomfortable backless stools in front of each, and another longer table at one end where the teacher lectured and did demonstrations. The room even smelled familiar – faint traces of formaldehyde, burned rubber, and the sharp aroma of spilled acid. I glanced around at the tables trying to figure out which seats were open – only two seats were unoccupied. The shy girl smiled goodbye and went to sit down. That left only one – third row, left column, closest to the windows.

Even from behind, I couldn't mistake who the lone occupant was. I doubted another person in the entire state had that same shade of bronze in their hair or the equally nonchalant manner of styling it. Edward Cullen. At first, I was a little apprehensive about sitting beside him all year – would that not provide him ample opportunity to scrutinize my every action? Then again … would that not also provide _me_ liberty to study him? Maybe discernment of his mysterious allure could occupy some of the dreary time spent in this room ….

Instead of standing at the back of the room like a dunce, I worked my way up the center aisle. As I passed, I could almost _feel_ the tremor of excitement ripple through the students. This scrutiny might have bothered me, if I hadn't been intent on watching the Cullen boy as I passed. His strange eyes had been on me off and on during lunch. I clearly remembered the peculiar anticipatory expression on his face the last time our eyes had met. I understood curiosity – my own got the better of me more often than not – but for some reason I couldn't quite identify I didn't think that mere curiosity had been the leading contributor to his look.

As I drew abreast of him, I let my gaze roam over his visage – starting from his hands resting on a pile of textbooks and working up to his face. I felt the current from the heater ruffle my hair, the welcome warmth caressing the right side of my face.

The look on Edward Cullen's face _would_ have been comical, if it hadn't been so severe. His mouth was compressed into a tight line and his jaw appeared clenched shut. His nose was wrinkled – as though he had smelled something unpleasant – and his eyes were narrowed. Even in my wildest imaginings, I couldn't have pictured his Rembrandtian face capable of being so arranged. The few times I'd gotten a good look, it was true he'd been mostly stoic. The quirking smile I thought I'd witnessed during lunchtime fit. This harshness didn't.

However, despite the awkward twist of his features, I wasn't even tempted to laugh. His eyes, dark and fathomless, were locked onto mine. The anger and revulsion burning unrestrained inside the midnight depths brought me pause. What had been the cause of this? Surely my cursory examination hadn't overstepped the lines of propriety. I'd received _much_ more insulting assessments over the years. Certainly I wasn't the first individual he'd encountered who'd admired his physical attributes ….

Nevertheless, his gaze unnerved me. I quickly dropped my eyes from his and proceeded down the aisle toward the teacher's desk. I could feel the warmth flooding my cheeks. It wasn't embarrassment, per se. It was more that I was angry with myself. I hadn't even spoken to this boy and I'd already strayed enough from my usual behavior to alienate him. Moreover, I shouldn't be appreciating him like that. He was young enough to be my great-grandchild! When this thought registered, I could have jumped off a cliff I was so mortified with myself. Instead, I stumbled over the strap of someone's bag and had to catch myself on the edge of another table.

The teacher – a middle-aged man with olive skin and a generous mouth – smiled warmly at me when I reached him. He made no fuss about me whatsoever, which I appreciated immensely. He signed the form, handed me a textbook, and directed me to the only available seat without any nonsense about introductions.

Still somewhat disconcerted with my own issues, I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked back to Edward Cullen's table. When I arrived, I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze – I was still too embarrassed at what I'd subjected him to. I slipped my bag to the floor and slid onto the stool without raising my eyes. The teacher began his lecture as soon as I was seated. Recognizing the material – Cellular Anatomy – I flipped open the textbook to the table of contents, scanned the list until I found the corresponding chapter, and riffled through the intervening pages until I found the material.

Even though I was trying _not_ to watch, I could see him from the corner of my eye. He was still sitting in the same position he had been when we'd locked gazes earlier – right hand clenched into a fist on his leg, left hand out of sight under the table, back rigidly straight, and face angled minutely in my direction. I knew my face was still confused and flushed. I could feel my eyebrows pulling together in the center – something they did whenever I was out of sorts. In an attempt to conceal my embarrassment, I maneuvered my shoulder so that my hair fell over it between us, creating a fluid wall of dark loose curls.

This limited seclusion helped me to focus a little. As I followed along in the chapter – something I didn't need to do but found comforting at the moment – the flush faded from my face. The embarrassment faded to be replaced, again, by curiosity. There was no way I could have been so rude as to cause this boy's temperament. So, what had? Had someone else said or done something before I'd entered? Perhaps I hadn't been the intended recipient of his impressive glare.

Sometime around the half-way point in the lecture, my curiosity had reached a peak. I was certain – at least mostly – that the Cullen boy's mood hadn't been a result of my assessment. However, I had this nagging suspicion – probably just a need to be masochistic – that I _was_ the cause. After arguing with myself for a good long while, I decided to take another peek at him. His reaction would solve my internal debate.

I tried to be covert – shifting my position as though I were uncomfortable. The first thing I noticed as soon as my shield of hair was out of the way was his tense posture. His right hand was still pulled into a fist on his leg. The already pale knuckles were whiter, as though he were expending unusual force to keep his fist clenched. Moreover, his forearms – visible because the sleeves of his pale grey shirt were pushed up to his elbows – were rigid with strain. The muscles – which were more prominent than I had first perceived when his brothers had been present – stood out in stark contrast against the skin. As I rolled my eyes upward to his face, I registered the presence of a thick black leather wristband on his right arm which bore a silver family crest.

Eventually, my eyes found his face. I half-expected – hoped – to see that he was focusing on the teacher's lecture. I wanted him to be oblivious to my scrutiny. I wanted the reasonable voice in my head to be right. Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky. Edward Cullen's oddly intense eyes were still locked on me. His face hadn't relaxed and the roiling aggression was still there. From the severity of the look, I got the distinct impression that he hadn't taken his eyes off me since I'd sat down.

_What in the _world _is his problem?_ I thought bitterly.

My temper wasn't something I had very good control of. Subsequently, I felt my own irritation beginning to rise. His expression was still severe enough that I didn't feel comfortable either ridiculing him or expressing this new exasperation. I pressed my lips into a tight line to keep from verbally confronting him and turned my face back to the front of the room. I was fairly certain I was beet red again but I didn't care. The look on _my_ face was unambiguous. It would be plain that I was annoyed.

I held my back ramrod straight, chin high, and eyes glued to the chalkboard. For the remainder of the hour long class, I refused to look back at the uncouth child next to me. If he had some problem with me, that was his own concern. I didn't need to worry about it.

As soon as the bell tolled, Edward Cullen was out of his seat and moving for the door faster than any other student. I tried not to watch, but couldn't help catching a glimpse. His abrupt departure added to my annoyance. He hadn't even had the courage to confront me.

As I unceremoniously flung my things into my bag, I heard someone approach. At first, I froze. Maybe I'd spoken too soon. Perhaps Mr. Cullen had the audacity to face me after all.

"Hi, you're Lilianna, right?"

The voice didn't match what I'd envisioned as Edward's. It was a little too high pitched. It took a split second for me to realize that someone else was talking to me.

I looked up and saw a baby-faced blond boy standing next to my table.

_Great … another one._

"Lily, actually," I corrected.

"Oh, okay," he stuck out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Mike Newton."

I took his hand, "Pleasure."

"Need help finding your next class?" He seemed hopeful.

"I have gym, actually. I think I can find it." I hoped this would discourage him from escorting me.

"Me too." He smiled.

_Great. _I smiled noncommittally and slung my bag over my shoulder.

He followed me out of the room, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or something? I've never seen him act like that."

"Who?" I decided to play stupid. I knew _exactly_ who he was talking about, but it would appear better if I pretended to be ignorant.

"Edward Cullen. The guy who sat next to you."

"Oh. I didn't really even notice him, so I don't think I did anything to him …" Okay, this was a lie, but at least it made me seem less culpable for his actions.

Mike smiled, "Really? If I'd been lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

_Ugh_. I tried to smile again. Was this ever going to stop? What was it with boys in this town? The ones in LA had caught on a _lot_ quicker than these ones did … hadn't they?

Gym went about as expected. The teacher – Coach Clapp – was exactly what I expected he would be. Overweight, boisterous, and totally unable to participate in the activities he set for his students. He found me a uniform but didn't make me dress out for the class. I didn't honestly care one way or another. Volleyball wasn't my favorite sport so I was content to sit on the bleachers and watch the multiple games going throughout the gym. Guessing, by the lack of skill, that Forks High School didn't have a Volleyball team.

I was humming quietly to myself, paying almost no attention to my surroundings, when I heard my name called – my _full _name. I groaned and looked around. Coach Clapp was standing next to another student and motioning me over. The girl wasn't dressed out, so I assumed she wasn't a member of my PE class.

I made my way around the outskirts of the basketball court toward them – I didn't much want to catch a volleyball with the side of my head.

The Coach addressed the girl, "This is Lilianna Howard."

"Lily," I corrected automatically, though not loudly. I didn't think he cared one bit.

"Here," the girl proffered a folded slip of paper.

"Um, thanks …" From the general size and shape, I assumed this was a note from the front office. Most schools used these to get messages to students.

I unfolded the sheet and read it as the girl turned and walked off, "Please come to Front Office after school to collect house key."

Oh. I had completely forgotten that I didn't have a key to the house. The minor aggravation from this morning seemed weeks old. Judging from the time, I reckoned that Julia had run the key down during one of her breaks at work.

"You can go now, if you want. The bell will ring in a minute or two anyway." The Coach intoned from over my shoulder.

I looked up at him, indignant at his rudeness. Just because he was taller than I didn't give him permission to read over my shoulder. Instead of launching into a tirade – which I was sorely tempted to do – I simply nodded curtly and went to collect my things from the bleachers.

I rummaged through the contents looking for the attendance slip I had to turn in anyway. At least this saved me a trip tomorrow morning. I finally found the sheet at the bottom of my bag. It was a bit rumpled from having several textbooks resting on it but that didn't matter. I pulled the hood of my jacket up before stepping out into the deluge – okay, it wasn't deluging … but still.

As soon as I walked into the tiny claustrophobic room, I was tempted to turn around and walk right back out – house key or not. The secretary was leaning against her side of the counter and talking – in a vaguely flustered manner – with Edward Cullen. His back was to me so I assumed he wasn't aware of my presence – the bell had rung just as I entered. Experiencing another bout of this child's temper was one of the last things I wanted to do right now. I was already irritated with the boys in this town, the teachers, and the weather. I didn't need to compound my bad mood.

I tittered just inside the door, trying to decide whether or not to simply leave. I had a car and the keys to the garage …. Briefly, I considered how long it would be before Julia made it home. I could go to the hospital and try to get her key from her, but then she'd ask why I hadn't gotten the one at the school office. That was a conversation I was more than willing to miss. I grumbled internally as I moved out of the doorway and leaned against the wall. Being in a warm _house_ was much preferable to sitting in a car all afternoon.

Even as aggravated with this pretty boy as I was, I couldn't help admiring him. His reddish-brown hair was sprinkled here and there with glistening water drops and his skin had a faint luminescence to it under the florescent lights. I tried not to listen, but I couldn't help catching snippets of his argument with the woman. His voice was low – both in tone and volume – and quite attractive. He had a way of pronouncing his words that most people lacked anymore.

From these pieces, I gathered that Edward Cullen was attempting to change his schedule. The specifics of this change revolved around our sixth-hour Biology class. The secretary was trying to be helpful – it was obvious she found him attractive – but couldn't seem to understand why he was so desperate to get out of the single course. As I tried to ignore this, my temper began to rise again.

What _is_ it with this boy? I re-evaluated my former opinion of the people here at Forks – specifically Curly. Perhaps they had good reason to shun the Cullen family. If Edward were any representation of his family, I could understand why they were so isolated. After all, it wasn't like I'd said anything to him to cause this attitude. And, considering I'd showered this morning, I knew I didn't smell offensive.

I hadn't been in the room long before another student – a blonde girl – ducked inside only long enough to deposit a slip of paper into one of the wire-framed baskets on the counter. The breeze that accompanied her was cold and damp, carrying the clean smell of rain into the tiny office.

As I had been waiting for him to finish his absurd vie for freedom, I'd been watching Edward's back. Before the door had opened, he'd been fairly relaxed, leaning casually against the counter and toward the plump receptionist. His hand had been animated as he talked – something most people did. However, as soon as the other student had swept in, Edward's posture had stiffened. He turned slowly to glare at me, his hand frozen above the countertop.

That same repulsed, angry expression that had marred his features in the biology room was still there. In fact, it seemed to have a hint of irritation as well.

I'd had enough. How _dare_ this little boy treat me in this manner! Meaning to express my own irritation and anger, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin in defiance of his dirty look, and raised an eyebrow at him. The look could be considered nothing less than haughty indignance and condescension. Through it I meant to convey how little I cared for his attitude or for him, in general.

We stood there, glaring dolefully at one another for a few seconds. I half-expected his expression to falter when confronted with my own practiced one. However, my look seemed to have no affect on him whatsoever. He continued to stare daggers back at me.

As I registered this, it confused me. I had yet to meet anyone who'd been unaffected by a glare from me. I'd had generations to master it. I resolved to continue the glare until he broke away. I wasn't going to give him the benefit of having me shy away first.

I locked my gaze on his and – for the first time since we'd encountered one another – managed to keep complete control over myself. My temper was so firmly set that my mind had no room to dawdle with whatever it was that happened before.

As I stared, I caught a slight shift in the emotions behind his onyx eyes. The revulsion and anger morphed to hatred. In less than a millisecond, my own resolve waivered. Suddenly, over the internal dialogue I'd been carrying on, I became aware of the warning bells clanging loudly inside me. I could feel the familiar thrill of adrenaline coursing through my system, causing my heart rate to accelerate, my muscles to tense, my mind to focus on the alarms ringing within it. My breath caught as I realized that my 'fight-or-flight' instinct had been triggered. Being who I was – and having experienced everything I had – my instinct always leaned toward flight.

My mind, now clear of the former bravado, focused on the hatred now simmering in Edward Cullen's threatening eyes. Counterproductively, this analysis caused my knees to lock in place. I was firmly set to run, but physically unable to do so.

His hand – hovering inches over the counter – twitched ever so slightly toward the secretary. I recognized hesitancy in the movement – as though he had to exert severe control in order to maintain his position. Then, displaying the same strangely forced hesitancy, he lowered his hand to his side. He turned back to the red-haired woman.

"Never mind, then. I can see it's impossible. Thank you so much for your time." His voice was low, controlled, and carried a thick undertone of menace.

If I hadn't been so locked in my own rising panic, I would have found the woman's expression amusing. Before Edward had noticed me, she'd been flustered and unknowingly flirtatious. Now, his voice had made an impact. Her eyes fluttered blinkingly and her mouth turned down at the corners.

Without another word, Edward swept out of the office. I felt my heart skip a beat when he passed close by me. For a fleeting second, I had been sure he wasn't going to leave. I was sure he was going to do … what? Something else, I was sure. But I didn't know what that was.

"I can help you now, dear."

I jumped – quite visibly – until I registered that the secretary had addressed me.

* * *

><p>I'm not sure what impression I left the woman with. I'm not even sure what I said. All I know is that before five minutes were gone, I gained the house key, lost the attendance slip, and was bolting for my car. I had the hardest time getting the key into the ignition. My hands were so shaky I wasn't sure I could actually drive. The warning bells inside my head had turned to a chorus of shrieking sirens.<p>

Despite all this, I made it back to Julia's house in one piece. I deposited the T-Bird into the extra garage – leaving the keys in the car – and raced into the house. I moved like a whirlwind when I reached my room. My laptop, a change of clothes, and Steph's jewelry box were in my backpack in record time. I didn't bother packing anything else. Everything else could be replaced.

Every nerve in my body, every instinct I had was telling me to run. I didn't take the time to think it through. I'd learned, over the years, to listen to that sixth sense whenever it decided to speak up. I wasn't about to start arguing with it now.

I flung my bag into the passenger seat of the Porsche and was heading out of town less than fifteen minutes after school had gotten out. I didn't know where I was going. As far as I was concerned, _anywhere _was better than here. When I reached the interstate, I turned south. I could stop off in LA to raid one of my safety deposit boxes. That would give me enough money to get somewhere else.

* * *

><p>The ragged, gasping breaths had slowly dissipated over the course of the two and a half hour drive to Portland. Even so, my face was in no fit condition to be seen – near hyperventilation having drained most of the pallor. I pulled off the highway and slowed my hundred-mile-an-hour speed to a reasonable in-city pace. I wasn't familiar with the route from here to … wherever I was going to go. I didn't want to end up stranded on the side of the road with an empty tank. That might cause a full-on panic attack. I had nothing even resembling a plan. I was running because that's what my body was telling me to do. Now that I was a goodly distance from Forks, it was time to evaluate my options.<p>

If I kept this steady pace, I would reach LA sometime in the early morning. The bank wouldn't be open until nine, meaning I would need to find a place to stay until I could get at my deposit box. I would probably need some sleep as well. I hadn't gotten much the night before and my excited condition would not lend itself well to driving for more than the fourteen hours I would be on the road today. I could rent a hotel room for the day, but I disliked the fact that I would have to use my current ID and name to check in. I wouldn't have access to my other IDs until I'd been to the bank. I could try sleeping in my car … but that could end disastrously – my car was a prime target for theft.

The keys hanging from the ignition brushed my leg as I turned off into a gas station. This drew my attention to the myriad of little metal objects hanging there. As I pulled in front of the pump, I recognized one of the keys. It went to Alex and Steph's house in LA. I knew the property hadn't been sold – the lawyer had ensured me I would be informed of the sale. There was still furniture in it, as those items not already claimed by the family had been listed with the house. Technically, the house belonged to me. Therefore, I could reasonably crash there for the night. No one would be able to kick me out and I wouldn't run the risk of leaving behind a paper trail.

I didn't stand outside the car while the pump worked. Instead, I reached over and dug the cell phone out of my bag. I wasn't expecting any messages, so the flashing notice in the upper-left corner of the screen surprised me. I scanned through the call list and didn't recognize the number. According to my phone, the number was based in Forks. I didn't understand who could have called me from there. I hadn't given my phone number to anyone from school and Julia was still at work.

I almost didn't check the message. I almost reasoned that, since I was running for good, I would have to get a new number – a new account. I didn't need to be traceable. Solid as this logic was, I was not a logical creature. I was only human … sort of. I wanted to know who'd called. If I knew that, then perhaps I'd know who to be careful of in the future. It was the responsible thing to do.

The pump stopped outside and I quickly returned it to its cradle. Not wanting to block the pump any longer than I had to, I pulled around to the side of the convenience station and parked. I hit the speed dial on my phone, typed in my password, and listened.

Julia's voice came on the line, "Hey, Lily. It's Julia. I was just hoping to chat with you while I'm eating lunch. Look, I'm sorry I forgot to leave you the house key this morning, hun. I really hope Mrs. Cope got it to you before you left school. If not, and you get this, go ahead and go over to Chief Swan's house – he's our neighbor to the left. He has a key and can let you in." There was a brief pause, "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. How'd your first day go – other than the missing key …," a soft chuckle that was stunted. "Well, I better not use up your answering machine. I'll see you when I get home at about nine tonight. Make sure and do your homework. There's leftover meatloaf in the fridge, if you get hungry. You can also order a pizza, if you want – just tell them to put it on my account; they know me. I love you. See you later."

Instantly, I felt like the poorest excuse for a living organism that there could possibly be. In all my self-absorbed panicky haste, I had completely forgotten about Julia. Though her tone hadn't been distraught, I could hear the force behind the lightness. Julia had been calling to check on me. It had probably worried her stiff that I hadn't answered my phone. In the last few weeks, I'm sure she'd grown nervous about not knowing where her people were. How could I add to that worry? She'd been more than generous with me and this whole messed up situation. I didn't have the right to worry her further. I didn't have the right to simply up and disappear yet. She needed some time to recover from the loss of her brother before she had to go through another tragedy. If she made it home after work and found me missing, it would kill her.

Before I'd made a conscious decision, I'd turned the car over and angled back toward the northern entrance to the interstate. I wasn't going to be responsible for another person's death, if I could help it. Especially not someone who'd taken me in when they didn't have to.

* * *

><p>I was back in Forks by eight-fifteen. The nervous alarming feeling hadn't disappeared but had, instead, been temporarily overshadowed by my resolve not to be the death of Julia Howard. When she got home, I'd warmed some meatloaf for her and was sitting at the kitchen table – every inch the attentive niece.<p>

We chatted a bit about my day – mostly I lied about it being pleasant. I didn't mention the Cullens. She hadn't asked for a thorough account, but I could tell she was pleased that I was sharing – as I said, she wasn't intrusive. Once she finished dinner, I excused myself to do homework and get ready for bed. The homework was minimal and I hardly needed to expend any mental energy to do it. Getting ready for bed is what took the longest. I dithered as I went about getting my pajamas and toiletries together. Considering the fright I'd already experienced today, I wasn't looking forward to surrendering to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate reviews.

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>_

Excusez-moi, mais j'étais au milieu d'une conversation - Excuse me, but I was in the middle of a conversation.

Oui, je peux voir. Je suis Lilianna Howard. On m'a dit de me présenter et de vous faire signer ce formulaire - Yes, I can see. I'm Lilianna Howard. I was told to introduce myself and make you sign this form.

Oui, je le suis - Yes, I am.

Pardonnez-moi, madame - Excuse me, ma'am.

Qu'avez-vous dit - What did you say.


	2. Chapter 2: Readability

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_** - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_** or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on. Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

This time, Julia heard me. When I came awake, tangled in my sheets once more, Julia was shaking my shoulders softly. I could feel the hoarse swelling in my throat, a result of crying and screaming in my sleep.

"Lily! Lily! Are you all right?"

"Julia?" I couldn't be sure that I wasn't still asleep. The feelings of terror and pursuit were still hanging heavily over my subconscious.

"Yes, hun. It's me. Are you all right?" She adjusted herself so that she was cradling my head against her shoulder.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Somewhere in my hazy head, I knew what had happened, but I wanted to know _exactly_ what she'd witnessed.

"You were screaming and crying in your sleep, honey. I heard you all the way upstairs. Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?" She began stroking my long tangled hair.

Just screaming … and crying. Well, it could have been worse. "Yeah … it was just a dream."

"Oh, honey." She kissed the side of my head, "It's okay. You're awake now."

I simply nodded. It was just screaming and crying. No words or … other things.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head rather vehemently. The _last_ thing I wanted to do was discuss this dream with Julia. I didn't even want to remember it!

"Okay." She rubbed her hand against my back as I hiccupped. "How about you take a shower and I'll fix us breakfast? Does that sound good?"

I nodded. I wasn't in the mood for food, but acquiescing would make her forget about this sooner.

She kissed my head again before leaving the room. Absently, I realized she was wearing her hospital scrubs. That must mean she was getting ready for work.

I scanned my end table for the luminescent face of the alarm clock, and saw that it was just before six. Great. I had yet to get a full night of sleep since the accident.

Thinking of the accident brought the dream back to my mind. I hadn't had a single _normal_ dream since Alex and Steph's deaths over two weeks ago. Every single time I'd lain down to sleep I'd had the recurring nightmare. Up until now, I hadn't remembered anything about it – ever. The dream had first come when I was in Italy, likely a product of the events I'd experienced there. In all these years, I'd never been able to remember more than the terror and pain. The only time I'd ever registered a change had been the night before, though I hadn't known what the change was. This time, I remembered a part of it.

I'd been cold and hungry. I was running from something … something hiding in the dark shadows behind me. No matter how fast I ran, or how many turns I took, _it_ followed me. I never saw it, only felt its presence. Most disturbing of all had been the knowledge that whatever _it_ was, _it_ was catching up to me, getting closer and closer by the minute.

I shuddered at the memory of pursuit. The deep gloom cast about my unlit room reminded me too much of being hunted. I scrambled out of bed, nearly falling onto my face when the sheets refused to release me, and switched on the overhead light. Its incandescent brilliance chased away the darkness and helped to reassure me that I was the only occupant in my room.

I barely noticed the water as I bathed, focused on dispelling my memories of the dream. When I finally emerged from the humid little bathroom, Julia was putting the pancakes on the table. We didn't chatter as we ate, though I could feel Julia's worried gaze on me throughout the meal. When the plates were clean, I offered to do the dishes while she finished getting ready.

* * *

><p>In a little less than half an hour, Julia had departed. I didn't want to go back into my room to sit and stew over the dream. So, in the interest of keeping myself busy, I went into the bathroom, turned on the blow-dryer, and worked on my hair. As usual, the mass didn't want to accommodate my straightening fixation. This yielded quite a lot of frustration. This new irritation, mundane and totally irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, brought other annoyances to mind. As I worked with the long tresses my mind wandered back to Edward Cullen and his unjustifiable hatred of me. By the time my hair was dry, I ignored the fact that, as soon as I walked outside, it would be soaked again, I had convinced myself that I needed to take desperate action in relation to the beautifully hostile child. I didn't want enemies, but I wasn't going to stand for his ill treatment of me. I would confront him, as he was obviously too cowardly to do it himself, and demand to know what his problem was. Gratified in my planned offensive, I headed to school.<p>

The morning dragged on as though the last fifty years were attempting to fit their cumulative existences within the small four-hour expanse. I was dreading French class, as I'd already managed to get on the wrong side of Mme. Goldfarb. However, the woman basically ignored me when I entered. All the better for me.

However, though everyone else seemed to be a little less focused on me today, there was one exception. As soon as I'd taken my seat, I got the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. When I looked up to see who it was, the dark-haired Cullen girl's eyes were on me. This irritated me more than it should have. Of course, I should have expected that Edward would go home and talk to his family about me. Teenagers always needed to corroborate with their peers.

I returned the Cullen girl's look until the teacher called for attention. There was something 'off' about her today – something that was different. I scrutinized her profile during class, trying to identify the change. Unfortunately, I just couldn't put my finger on it.

By the eighth or ninth sideways glance she'd given me, I was tempted to ask the peculiar pixie-child what the problem was – with her _and_ her brother. Each time she'd scanned me her face had been pulled into a beautiful semblance of a troubled grimace. I wondered what her brother had told her. Perhaps he'd convinced her that if she didn't stay away from me, I'd sprout fangs and rip her throat out or something. I grimaced. Maybe that was a bit too graphic.

By the end of class, despite her looks, I'd decided that, in the interest of decorum and privacy, I would keep my confrontation confined to Edward alone. It wasn't the Cullen girl's fault that her first tale of me had come from her utterly perplexing brother. After all, I didn't hold her family in high esteem due to my limited association with her brother.

I was actually anxious to get to lunch. I wanted to know where Edward was. I planned on confronting him during passing period. We both had the same class, so I knew where he would be headed. And, if he managed to elude me during the passing period, I could corner him during the lecture.

Curly – honestly, I couldn't remember her name and the hair _was_ her most defining attribute – was waiting for me outside the cafeteria. The blond boy – Mick, Mike? – was there, too. I greeted them absently and got into line. As soon as I'd paid, I gathered my plate and spork and went to the salad bar. From my closer vantage point, I scanned the corner table where the Cullens had been sitting the day before. There were only four people at the table – none of them Edward. This confused me. He'd been with his family yesterday when I'd come in. Perhaps his class was running late.

I took my seat at Curly's table and proceeded to pick at my food. I wasn't hungry. I wanted to get this whole ordeal over with. However, I didn't want to start gossip among my lunchtime peers. So, in the interest of discretion, I kept my eyes mostly on my own table, stealing only fleeting glances up toward the Cullen table.

After twenty minutes or so, I'd realized that Edward wasn't going to be joining his family. This didn't make sense. From Curly's conversation yesterday I knew that the Cullens stuck to themselves and weren't particularly social. As such, Edward wouldn't be out with some other friends. Just in case, I made a quick sweep of the cafeteria. No, no Edward.

As several boys at the table, the blond, attentive one included, chattered about something, I tried to dissect the reasons why Edward Cullen wouldn't be at his normal lunch table. After a few minutes, I'd come to two possible conclusions. Number one: Edward was embarrassed by his unreasonable and rude behavior the day before and was avoiding me out of humiliation. I liked this one, personally, because it proved me the victor without the confrontation. Number two: something about me got to him so badly that he was actually skipping school to avoid my company. This one I was not so fond of. I didn't like feeling as though I were at fault, especially since I hadn't _actually_ done anything to him.

By the end of lunch, he still hadn't shown up. Determined not to miss my chance, I excused myself from the table and headed to class a few minutes early. I half-expected to find Edward had retreated to the classroom to avoid encountering me until absolutely necessary. However, he wasn't there either. This fact had me worried. Obviously, my first assumption wasn't valid. Did that mean my second one was accurate?

I sat dejectedly at my desk waiting for the bell to ring. When he got in, the blond boy from lunch stopped by my table and chatted animatedly with me. I didn't know what he was talking about. I smiled and nodded and waited. The teacher's entrance ended his prattle and I was left alone to think. I didn't follow along with the lesson today. I was speculating. What about me could cause Edward to be so abhorrent of my very presence?

* * *

><p>I made it home in a bad mood. All this self-deprecating speculation wasn't conducive to cheer. Moreover, I was tired.<p>

The next day didn't make it any better. Again, I went to school expecting my chance to confront Edward and, again, he wasn't there. My mood darkened more every day that he didn't show. For the rest of the week, this cycle perpetuated. I would wake up determined and go to bed angry, almost hostile. It was as if the boy's absence had necessitated my personality adopting his displayed temperament. Furthermore, the dreams had been getting worse. The feelings of terrifying pursuit lingered even when I was awake. I'd been jumpy, nervous.

By Thursday afternoon, Julia had had enough. She had the nightshift and would have to leave me alone overnight for the first time since I arrived. We were sitting at the dinner table and I was picking noncommittally at the food - browned beef and gravy. So lackluster was my mood that I hadn't even taken a single bite. Instead I was focusing on mashing the little pieces of cooked meat into oblivion with the prongs of my fork.

"All right, that's enough." Julia's tone was angry.

I looked up, not understanding. She hadn't been cross with me before, quite the opposite in fact, "What?"

"Lily, you've been moping around here for days. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Her fork was resting on an empty plate and her hands were folded demurely in front of her.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Automatic. Untrue.

"That's not true and we both know it." Her mouth turned down at the edges, "Look, I know you've got to be going through a lot, Lily. I can't imagine what losing Alex and Stephenie was like for you, but you need to change how you're handling it. It's not healthy for you to be skipping meals, having nightmares, and constantly upset. It'll only make you sick."

"I know that." My tone was petulant and a little sharp. My mood really didn't have much to do with Alex and Steph's deaths and bringing them up just added to my issues. "I'm fine, really."

"Lily, you need to talk about what you're going through. Now, I understand that you don't really know me that well and that might make it hard for you to open up to me. I don't blame you for that, hun. I do think that you need to talk to someone, though. Bottling it up is only going to end in disaster. If you don't want to talk to me, I think you need to talk to a counselor."

"No." There was no room for argument. The last thing I wanted to do right now was talk to a counselor. I had enough problems without adding professional speculation to the mix.

"Lily, this is not a request. I'm worried about you. If you won't talk to me, then you have to talk to a professional." Her face was set in the stubborn mask I'd learned to recognize on Alex's face. There was no way around it. If I didn't go of my own free will, she'd bring the doctor to me. "I know it's embarrassing to go to a psychiatrist, but I promise you that no one will know. There is nothing shameful about getting help, when you need it."

"I don't need help. I just need sleep." I pushed away from the table.

"Going to bed without food in your stomach isn't good for you either."

I turned and went back to my room. _And neither is vomiting_, I thought as I closed the door behind me. I didn't emerge until I left for school the next morning.

* * *

><p>And that was how I ended up sitting in a bumpy chair in the waiting room of the Forks Community Hospital at ten in the morning on a Saturday. The pen scratched gratingly across the form as I filled in the probative information. I had a headache and my stomach was growling, more from the irritation of being here than the lack of food, I'm sure. Once finished, I dropped the little clipboard off with the receptionist and returned to my seat. I really didn't want to be here and, most of all, I didn't want to be disturbed. Out of habit, I'd grabbed my backpack before leaving the house. There were several books inside which I could use as a deterrent for social interaction. I pulled out Wuthering Heights and flipped it open to somewhere in the middle. I propped my left foot up on the chair across from me and rested my elbow on my knee. This put the book at a reasonable height for reading and didn't require me to crane my neck. It wasn't like I was actually going to read the pages, I'd read this book multiple times over the course of my high school educations.<p>

A man, tall with blond hair and wearing a doctor's long white coat, strode comfortably into the room and stopped at the nurses' station, picking up a clipboard and riffling through the papers. Normally, I wouldn't have registered his entrance. However, as I was desperately trying _not_ to read the printed text in front of me, his movement caught my attention. He wasn't turned so I could see his face and yet I felt as though I recognized him.

"Ms. Howard?"

I looked up to see a motherly-looking woman in a brown suit standing in the entrance from an inner hallway. The counselor had come out to meet me herself. I certainly hoped this was normal procedure. I raised my hand slightly in her direction to let her know I'd heard her and began stowing the book back in my bag.

When, at last, everything was secure, I slung the bag over my shoulder and followed the woman further into the hospital. All thoughts, save of contemplated disaster, were forgotten. I had to be very careful now. I couldn't afford to be distracted.

The office was cozy, if a little crowded. Like most medical professionals, Ms. Hanson had a series of diplomas, certificates, and awards splayed across the wall behind her desk. Moreover, there were a few framed photos on the corner of her desk. Based on the lack of wedding ring and the presence of two children – both male – in the pictures, I guessed Ms. Hanson was divorced.

"Please, take a seat, Lilianna."

I did as I was told, scooting the chair slightly so the door would be in my peripheral vision, "Lily." After the week of in-school introductions, the moniker correction was automatic.

"All right, Lily. My name is Vanessa." She extended her hand for me to shake.

I shook it and then adjusted my positioning to get comfortable. This was going to be a while.

"Do you know why you're here, Lily?" The traditional notepad was lying across her lap, a pen pushed into the binding.

* * *

><p>For the next two hours, Ms. Hanson – Vanessa, she'd insisted – went about the typical procedure. I'd been through this song and dance multiple times in the last fifty years, so I was well versed with protocol. I didn't lie … <em>exactly. <em>Instead, I tried to be as generic as possible. Julia had obviously spent some time speaking with Vanessa yesterday about her worries and we addressed those one at a time. I admitted that I hadn't been sleeping well since the accident and that I'd been having nightmares, no way to hide that since Julia had woken me from a couple episodes. When she asked me what the nightmares were about, I told her that I couldn't remember. She didn't seem to believe me but, as I was adamant, she let that go. Furthermore, we touched on my 'real' family, she'd read my file and knew I was adopted. I refused to speak on this subject, as I had while being processed in LA.

It took her a few minutes before she realized that I wasn't going to simply open up – particularly about my past. When she understood this, we moved on to more present circumstances. She asked how I was adjusting to Forks; did I have any friends, was I getting along with my teachers, etc. To the first, I told her that I sat with a group of kids at lunch and spent passing period with them as well. This didn't _exactly_ answer the question but I figured it would suffice. As for the second, I said that most of my teachers seemed amenable. When I didn't elaborate on my own, she asked me whether I was having issues with any of them. I had to admit that my French teacher and I weren't on the best of terms. She'd find out easily enough, I'm sure. When she asked why, I told her that the teacher didn't appreciate that I was familiar with the language already.

This admission brought on a new subject: my interests. I had a plethora, evidenced by my numerous college degrees throughout the years. Sticking to the most generic, I told her that I'd been studying classical and modern dance while in LA.

"I see. Have you continued this pursuit?" She was scribbling away on her notepad, something she'd been doing for a good portion of this session.

"No." Well, it was true.

"Why not?"

"I hadn't considered it." I'd been a bit distracted since the accident. Typically, I sought out some sort of extracurricular activity, usually singing or dancing, whenever I was placed with a foster family. My sanity, what was left of it after Italy, depended on this outlet more often than not.

"And why not? Wasn't it something you enjoyed?"

"Yes but … I haven't exactly been concerned with dancing recently."

"Well, considering your nightmares and such, it might be a good idea to get back onto a normal schedule. Resuming your extracurricular activities may help you adjust to Forks. From what you've told me," there was a considerable pause here, "you don't have much here that's grounding you. You don't have any way of coping with your grief. You haven't been here very long, I know, but people need outlets – especially after traumatic experiences."

I nodded my head but refrained from commenting. It was something to consider, at least.

By the end of the session, she told me that I should continue seeing her to help me cope with my grief. Translation: she didn't know what was wrong with me but – like all counselors – she was convinced there was something wrong with me. However, unlike many of the professionals I'd been forced to see over the years, she'd given me some useful advice. The more I thought about it, the more I was resolved to continue dancing. I'd be here for a while, anyway. Why not make it as pleasant for myself as possible?

When I got home, I looked up dance studios in the immediate area. As I suspected, there wasn't one in Forks. The closest studio was an hour away in Port Angeles. I quickly programmed the number into my cell phone and made a mental note to call on Monday after school.

* * *

><p>The session seemed to have some lasting effect on my attitude. By Monday morning, I had mostly given up on waiting for a chance to confront Edward Cullen. I'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't worth the time and effort of holding a grudge, even should he magically return to school; which I thoroughly doubted. Considering the consistency of my new tagalongs, I'd managed to learn a few of their names. Jessica Stanley – formerly Curly – had Trigonometry with me in third period. Mike Newton – the blond boy who was far too attentive for his own good – was in my first period English class, my sixth period biology class, and my seventh period gym class. Angela Weber – the shy dark-haired girl whom I'd attached myself to on that first day – was in my biology class. Jessica and Mike now made a habit of meeting up with me during passing period to chat a bit before the next class. I never said much, but pretended to be polite.<p>

Unfortunately, during the last week, I'd developed some rather unnecessary habits. In the course of the lunch period, I would routinely steal glances toward the distant Cullen table. I told myself that this was more out of a misled sense of kinship than anything else, particularly with the Hale twins. It wasn't that I was checking to see if Edward was back ….

Today, as I stood in line with Jessica and _her_ friends – I was not claiming ownership of these children – I let my eyes roam over the familiar table. At first, I didn't believe what I saw. I had to count twice before I was sure. There were five people seated around the table today. The top of Edward's bronzish head was visible over those of the intervening students'. When this fact finally solidified in my head, I was a little shocked. He'd been gone for nearly a week. Why was he back now?

For a fleeting moment, I felt the remembered irritation I'd been harboring toward this boy for the last week. His temper tantrum and ensuing absence had made my first week here more unpleasant than it had strictly needed to be. And, now, here he was – no doubt returned for round two.

As I stood there, fuming about the collar, I remembered that I was supposed to be ignoring the unfathomable child. He wasn't worth my effort or anger … or irritation … or admiration. So, I tried to forget the annoyance I felt at seeing him. I tried to forget that he was present. Slowly, I felt the exasperation begin to fade away. Then, as it did so, a flash of his venomous expression from the office flitted through my mind. I could see it just as clearly as if he'd been standing in front of me now wearing that face. My body remembered the reaction I'd had to that look; the need to flee, to get as far away as I could as fast as I could. In fact, as the image was floating translucently in front of my eyes, the reaction was beginning to return. I could feel the faintest hint of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream; hear the distant echoes of ringing alarm bells in the back of my mind.

I tried to analyze why I was experiencing this again. There was no justification for it. I'd encountered much more formidable …_things_ in my life. It wasn't like this _human_ boy could ever pose much of a threat to me. I had decades more experience than he. Moreover, I had other … advantages. Not that I was considering a physical confrontation. The mere thought of that caused me to cringe slightly. No. Fighting wasn't in my nature. I'd experienced more than enough to know that I abhorred violence.

I felt my arms rise to wrap protectively around my torso – an old habit. My eyes were still locked on the back of Edward Cullen's head. My skin felt cold and I knew my face had lost what little color it normally held.

From a foot or so to my right, I heard someone say my name.

"Hey, is Lily all right?" The voice was male. It took me a second to recognize it as Mike Newton's.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little tired." This snapped me fully out of my reverie.

_Just stop it right now!_ I told myself as I filled my plate with the usual rabbit-fare. There was no reason for me to get antsy about an adolescent boy's attitude problems. All it served to do was rile me up and make me miserable – ok, more miserable. When there was no more room on my plate, I took my vegetable-laden tray to Jessica's table and sat, determined – resigned – to take no more notice of the Cullens. After all, taking an interest in people only invited them to take an interest in you. I didn't want to be interesting to the Cullens – Edward in particular.

In an attempt to prevent myself from gazing toward the isolated table I strained to pay attention to and participate in the threads of conversation floating around my troupe of acquaintances. This turned out to be exceptionally taxing. I honestly couldn't have cared less about the mundane everyday dramas of the teenagers surrounding me. Yet again, I found that I appreciated the limited conversation of Angela Weber.

As I listened to one of the girls – I was fairly certain her name was Lauren – rant about how unfair a written assignment from an English teacher was, I found my mind wandering toward my own looming classes. This, unfortunately, wound its way to biology and, eventually, back to Edward Cullen. Before I realized that I was doing it, I found myself wondering whether he would actually show up to our joint class. What would I do if he did? What would I do if he didn't? Did it really matter? I _should_ just ignore him – like all the other people in this school seemed to.

"Pst!" I jumped slightly and looked to see that Jessica was leaning close to my ear, "Edward Cullen is staring at you!"

My breath caught in my throat, though I didn't have time to wonder why. Without conscious command, my eyes sought him out automatically. It didn't take long for our eyes to meet – I was used to looking in his direction. As soon as they did, I realized my slip. I hadn't meant to look and doing so was a weakness, one I did not intend to coddle. Quickly, I lowered my face, though I could feel the blush of anger I aimed at myself coloring my cheeks.

I wanted to dismiss the incident. I wanted to forget that he even existed.

I heard Jessica giggle softly and I looked at her face. She gave me a superior smirk, "Is something the matter?"

"No." I planned on leaving it at that. I didn't want to justify myself to this self-possessed girl. However, my curiosity got the better of me. I didn't want to look at him again but I was interested to know if his expression still displayed his thorough hatred of me. I'd looked away from him too quickly – plus, I'd been focused on his eyes. "Does he look angry?"

Jessica turned her head and tilted it to one side as she tried, presumably, to read the look on Edward's face. "No," her tone made it obvious that she wished she could say 'yes'. "Should he?"

"I don't know. I just don't think he likes me much." Time to drop the subject.

"The Cullens don't like anyone. Well, they don't notice anyone enough to like them." Her eyes skittered back in his direction, "But he's still staring."

"I don't see why he should." I propped my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand, purposefully angling myself away from him. When my neighbor continued to sneak glances toward the far table, I decided that I needed to intervene, "Stop looking at him! He's going to assume we're talking about him!" Well … we were. But that was beyond the point.

For a moment, I was convinced that I was going to have to make her acquiesce. Fortunately, she turned back to our lunch companions before I had to resort to force, though not before sniggering at me in a very self-important way.

Now that I had something else to worry about, the food on my plate looked even more unappetizing. I proceeded to scoot the wilting greenery around in a disinterested way. Considering my slipup and consequent embarrassment, I was disinclined to attend my Biology class. After all, if I couldn't maintain enough self-control to ignore him when he was across a crowded lunchroom, how could I expect to do so when he was seated next to me?

From the moment our eyes had met, I had been beating back this nagging feeling of curiosity nudging me to look over at the quintet of attractive strangers. I managed to win the battle … for fifteen minutes. Eventually, however, the sensation won out over my logic. As I rotated my head and let my eyes rake up to them, I saw the big one – Emmett – leaning over the table toward the small one – Alice – and shaking his sopping wet ice-slicked hair at her. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away from him and holding up their trays, trying to shield themselves from the deluge.

I noted how normal they all looked, just like a happy family in a fifties sitcom. Again, I felt the surge of unreasonable jealousy toward their fortune. I missed _my _family. Not Stephenie and Alex – though I missed them, too – but my aunt, uncle, and four cousins.

As I remembered each, I saw their face pass before me. It wasn't fair. How is it that our backgrounds were so similar and yet our present situations were so drastically different? What had the Cullen children done to have providence smile so brightly upon them? What had I done to be confined to the shadows?

No. I wasn't going to darken their memories with this brooding. I'd done my best over the years to associate my _family_ with only the happier memories. The ones reminiscent of the playful banter at the Cullen table. I delved into those memories now.

Lost in my musings, I forgot to lower my gaze from the group of stunning, playful people. I wasn't really seeing them anymore, but my face was still angled toward their table.

"I thought you said to stop staring, Lily." Jessica's voice was a little petulant under the sarcastic tone.

Before I could look away, Edward's head swung around toward us, as though he'd heard her comment, and our eyes met. This time I finally _saw_ his expression. The hatred and revulsion I clearly remembered from last week were nowhere in evidence. In fact, those more hostile emotions seem to have been replaced by curiosity. His eyes bore into mine as though he were seeking an answer to a question he'd asked.

Embarrassed at yet another slip, I returned my gaze to Jessica. Her smug expression said it all. She was gathering gossip information. No doubt, before the end of the day, half the student body would know Edward and I had been staring at each other. Great. Just what I needed.

For the remaining fifteen minutes of the lunch period, I managed to keep my eyes on my own table. I was angry. Angry at myself for having no self-control, at Jessica for thinking she knew what was going on, at Edward for being … Edward, at the teenagers at my table for being so dull and predictable ….

When the bell rang, I was still simmering. Mike asked me if I was feeling all right and I assured him that I was fine. Though, for a split second, I wondered if perhaps I could play the invalid and retreat to the nurse's office for the hour. At least, then, I wouldn't have to sit next to Edward for an hour and be embarrassed and irritated …. No. I was going to be the adult and go to class. I was going to class and I was going to ignore him.

I slid onto my stool, resigned to my fate and boredom, and tried to take no notice of the beautiful boy next to me. Mr. Banner entered as the bell rang, pushing a rolling cart down the center aisle and passing out a microscope and a box of slides to each table. Great. Lab work. I had completely forgotten this.

"Hello." The voice was low and attractive and coming from my left side.

I turned to look, disbelieving. Was he actually talking to me? I met his eyes, examining his face for any hint of the hostility I remembered from before. It wasn't there. His gorgeous face wore a politely calm expression and his eyes were merely curious and inquisitive, emotions that fit better than the aggression had. I was unsure what to do, whether to say anything. I wanted to. I wanted to say hello. I wanted to ask him a million questions, questions that had been forming in cascades over the last week. As I looked at him, saying nothing and likely looking confused, I blushed. It was equal halves embarrassment and anger. Had I imagined everything that had happened last week?

"My name is Edward Cullen. I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Lily Howard."

"How do you know my name?" As soon as the words had left my mouth, I realized that I hadn't said what I meant.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive." He smiled reassuringly.

I felt the frown form on my lips. I had known that everyone here had been briefed on my arrival. That didn't make it pleasant knowledge. However, this gave me the chance to clarify my meaning. I wanted to know how he knew my nickname. "That's not what I meant. You called me Lily."

He looked confused, "Do you prefer Lilianna?"

"No, I prefer Lily. It's just that you're the first person I haven't had to correct."

"Oh." He shrugged slightly and looked away from me.

In that moment, Mr. Banner came by our table and placed the microscope and slides down. Automatically, I pushed the equipment toward the center of the desk so that Edward could reach it as well. I was grateful that he'd broken off contact first, as I needed a moment to think. Something seemed 'off' about our limited conversation. How had he known what to call me? For a moment, I wondered if his sister, Alice, had told him that I liked to be called Lily. She'd been present for that embarrassing French introduction, after all. Perhaps she'd picked up on the usage.

From the front of the classroom, Mr. Banner called for us to start the lab.

I glanced at the worksheet to see what we'd be doing. Reviewing the Onion Root Tip slides and separating them into the phases of mitosis. Well, that wouldn't take long. I'd done this one numerous times. Nothing really ever changed about it.

"Ladies first, partner?" Edward's hand motioned silently toward the box of slides and the microscope. There was an appealing crooked smile gracing his glorious face.

For a split second, I felt haziness descend over my cognitive processes. I blinked, clearing my head, "Sure."

I grabbed a slide, pushed it under the braces, adjusted the magnification on the microscope to the forty-times objective, and peaked into the eyepiece. I knew immediately that it showed Prophase. However, I also knew that I needed to take at least a few seconds to pretend to examine it before announcing a conclusion. Doing otherwise was suspicious.

I counted to five in my head and then pulled away from the eyepiece. "Prophase," I declared, reaching to remove the slide from the cradle.

I was showing off, and I knew it. I was used to being the smartest person in any school I attended – teachers included. Most students – and teachers, for that matter – didn't question my assertions once they'd been around me for a few weeks.

"Do you mind if I look?" His hand moved to stop me.

When his fingertips brushed the back of my hand, I felt as though lightning had struck me. The jolt of electrifying energy was nearly painful and yet sent a thrill of excitement through me. My muscles tensed, my heart skipped a beat, and my whole arm tingled slightly. His hand was cold, very cold, as though he'd been holding it in a snow drift just before class. Considering the snow outside and the wet-related banter I'd witnessed at his table during lunch, this was reasonable. The shock, though, was not.

He jerked his hand away, as though he, too, had felt the sharp stab of contact, "I'm sorry." Deliberately, he grasped the microscope and pulled the eyepiece toward him. He took a transitory glance, one that seemed far too short to provide for an actual examination. "Prophase."

I was still reeling from the brief touch we'd shared. The prickling sensation still hummed in the nerves of my arm. What had happened?

Without looking at me, he turned to the worksheet and wrote the answer on the corresponding line. His handwriting was uncharacteristically good for a teenage boy. In fact, it reminded me more of calligraphy than cursive. It was definitely more elegant than my own scrawling. I probably could have filled in the answer before he had, but I'd been distracted before. Now, I was disinclined to do so. My chicken scratch would only mar the perfection of his script on the page.

Once finished writing, he exchanged slides and inspected it. "Anaphase." He didn't wait before putting pen to paper.

I'd gotten my feet back under me, so to speak. I held my hand out toward the microscope rather than reaching to take it from him. "May I?" I knew my smile was vaguely superior. It wasn't that I didn't trust him to get the answer correct … exactly. I just preferred to check. Just in case ….

He looked up, surprise on his face. When he saw my outstretched hand, he smirked and pushed the scope toward me.

Since he'd done it, I figured I had some leeway to take only a fleeting glance into the eyepiece. I knew my assessment would be accurate, nonetheless. The phases of mitosis weren't that difficult to discern. I edged up onto the lip of my seat and peeked at the illuminated magnification. Anaphase. Dang-it. I felt the slight pull of a dissatisfied frown tug at the corners of my mouth. It wasn't that I'd wanted him to be wrong … precisely. It was just …. Well, I liked to be right. I wasn't used to competition.

I didn't look at him. I was being petulant and I knew it was childish. He'd beaten me to the answer. It was bound to happen every once in a while. "Next?" I held out my hand without looking at him.

He dropped the next slide into the palm of my hand without comment. To me, it seemed as though he were avoiding further contact with my skin. Had he been shocked, too?

The next minutes were passed in this tit-for-tat method of non-conversation. One of us would announce the represented phase, the other would check the answer, and Edward would transcribe said answer onto the worksheet. We were finished long before anyone else was.

As soon as the lab work was completed, I realized that I didn't have any further reason to continue conversing with him. This was annoying, in and of itself. Something about his voice was comforting … almost familiar. He had the faintest hint of an accent that I couldn't exactly place. However, it was the tone, the tenor, of his words that resonated with me.

Mentally, I shook myself when I realized that I was focusing on his voice. His voice wasn't for me to admire. His voice was meant to be admired by _human_ girls between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. I fit into neither category. Seeking a distraction, I glanced around the room at the other students. Mr. Banner had meant for the students to complete the lab without aide from the textbook. Two tables away, Mike Newton and his partner were attempting to hide the bulky text under the lip of the table as they flipped through the demonstrative images.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?"

I turned back to Edward. He was gazing in a distracted manner out the high windows at the now-rainy sky. _The weather? Really?_ Without meaning to, I let out an exasperated sigh.

He turned back to face me and I felt my cheeks heat.

"I suppose." I glanced up at the grey sky and frowned. I didn't really like the snow much. I'd grown up not too far from the Mediterranean. My first experience with snow had been on a trip to Paris when I was twelve. Philippe, my eldest cousin, had shoved a fist-sized handful down the back of my dress. Not the most pleasant of introductions ….

"You don't like the cold." His voice made it clear that it wasn't a question. He was making an observation.

"Not particularly. The whole cold, wet thing …" I let my voice trail off. It wasn't like he was truly interested, and I shouldn't want him to _be_ interested.

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live." Another observation. However, his voice now held the slightest tenor of curiosity.

His eyes were locked on my face and his expression held the beginnings of that same inquisitiveness I'd seen in the lunchroom. "You have no _idea_." The words were out of my mouth before I could censor them. I hadn't really meant to elaborate. Something about the combination of his expression and his intense eyes muddled my mind. It was coercive … enticing.

His eyebrows drew together slightly, "Why did you come here, then?"

I felt my eyebrows shoot up in response to his question. His tone was demanding, almost accusatory. The question itself was rude, prying. That reaction only lasted a few seconds. Before I had time to work up to being outraged at his meddling, my still-wounded consciousness jumped over anger straight into pain. I'd moved here because I'd lost my family … again. Surely he knew this. The whole damned school seemed 'in the loop' when it came to my personal life.

I could feel the sharp, hollow ache in my abdomen, "It's … complicated." My voice was low, quiet. I really hoped he was going to drop the subject.

"I think I can keep up," he insisted.

I stared down at my hands, purposefully avoiding his eyes. The inner corners of mine were beginning to tickle, something they did whenever the waterworks were attempting to leak out. I was careful to keep my breathing even. If I let it hitch, even just this once, I would lose all composure. His inquiry made it quite clear that he didn't know. I couldn't hold him responsible for this panging in my chest. He was only being inquisitive, like all children.

I sat there for a few moments, counting and breathing. When the tingling sensation behind my eyes dissipated, I knew I was out of crying territory. For some reason, I felt the need to talk to someone. Perhaps it was a result of that counseling session. Either way, I couldn't fathom why this striking boy next to me cared, but I didn't see the harm in enlightening him, everyone else knew.

"I came to live with my aunt." I offered only the barest of information, giving him the opportunity to break off the potential torrent. I expected him to let it drop. He didn't.

"Why is that?" His face was expectant and somewhat frustrated, as though my vague answer were only teasing him.

"I …." I took a deep, even breath before continuing. He'd asked for it. "There was an accident." Again, I gave him the chance to gracefully bow out. Most adolescents would, at this point.

He didn't. "That doesn't sound so complex." His voice was gentle, calming. "When did that happen?"

He didn't understand. Suddenly, I wasn't sure if I should shatter this boy's concept of the world. He seemed perfectly content in his protected little bubble. Did I need to pass some of my burden off onto his shoulders? What good would sharing my pain do for either of us?

"Three weeks ago." The answer slipped out before my mind had finished rationalizing.

"Was anyone hurt?" Again, his voice was soothing, melodic.

I nodded but didn't continue. It was getting hard to breathe.

"So, you came here to get away for a while?"

I abruptly understood his line of thought. He was under the misapprehension that I'd been the cause of the accident I'd told him about. Anger flared up inside me. How dare he assume that I'd hurt Steph and Alex. I squared my shoulders and set my jaw, meeting his eyes, "No. I came here because I didn't have a choice."

He looked a little confused now. Apparently, my response had caught him off guard, "I don't understand."

I sighed and reminded myself that this wasn't his fault. Taking another deep, calming breath I elaborated, "I wasn't in the accident."

His confusion didn't seem to clear up. I was still being too vague.

"My parents were." I waited.

His eyes narrowed as he processed this and then widened when he finally understood. Before I could lower my gaze back to my hands, I saw his jaw clench shut and begin to work silently. He didn't say anything for almost thirty seconds. This gave me the time I needed to compose my face, the rest of me was a lost cause.

"I'm sorry." His tone was full of sympathy and chagrin.

I looked back up to his face and nodded, accepting his apology but unable to meet his eyes.

"It's just …. I'm just trying to understand you." He looked deeply into my eyes, "You're just very hard for me to read."

I was no longer in an inquisitive mood. In fact, I would rather just stop talking all together. The nagging empty spot in my chest, the one that seemed to form the instant I learned of Alex and Steph's passing, was throbbing harshly. Moreover, his comment had struck a nerve. He wasn't the first person to mention my unreadability ….

"So I've been told …" My comment was very quiet and meant to signal an end to the conversation.

This time, he acquiesced.

Unfortunately, Mr. Banner had noticed our conversation and came over to see why we weren't working. I only realized this, when he leaned over to examine the worksheet covered in Edward's elegant script.

His mouth pursed down into a frown, "So, Edward, you didn't think Lilianna should get a chance with the microscope?"

I was immediately angry. From the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, I gathered that this teacher assumed that I hadn't participated at all. Moreover, it was rather clear that he was accustomed to thinking everyone, besides Edward, apparently, was an idiot. I couldn't believe this! I'd identified more of the slides than Edward had!

Before my temper could boil over, most likely in some spectacularly explosive manner, Edward spoke.

"Lily." He was correcting the teacher's use of my full name.

I hadn't even registered that infraction ….

"Actually, she identified three of the five." Edward continued in a calm matter-of-fact manner. He didn't look embarrassed or upset. In fact, he looked somewhat amused.

His lack of accepting credit for undone feats squashed my rising anger in its tracks. That was unexpected. Most people, particularly teenagers, were more than willing to seize credit when none was due. What was it about this boy? Why was he so different? Why did he _have_ to be?

The teacher's lips thinned further and he looked slightly annoyed. He turned to me, "Have you done this lab before, Miss Howard?"

_Yes. _No need to show off overly much, "Not really. I've just covered this material before."

He frowned. His expression made it clear that he wasn't best pleased. He'd put a lot of effort into orchestrating this lab and I'd just derailed his self-congratulatory train. "Were you in an accelerated placement program in LA?" His voice was louder than I would have liked. The people at the three tables closest to us perked their ears in our direction.

"Not exactly. I wasn't in public school." Suddenly, I really didn't want to talk about this. I was already strange enough at this school. I didn't need to compound the issue by bragging, or talking about it, at all.

"Private?" He looked a little irritated.

My temper hitched, "Pacific Collegiate." _Shoot._ I felt my cheeks go red. Few people in the educational field hadn't heard of Pacific Collegiate.

His eyebrows shot up and I lowered my gaze to the black-topped table.

_Me and my _big _mouth …._

"I see. Well, I guess it's good you two are lab partners." I saw him walk away. _"So the other kids can get a chance to learn something for themselves."_

I glanced up to glare at his back and realized that Mr. Banner was much too far away for me to have heard him say that last part. I felt a chill run down my spine. This seemed to be becoming more and more of a common occurrence since the accident. That, even more than the speculations of the teacher, or students, or Edward, bothered me. I didn't want to hear what was tumbling around in the heads around me. I had enough to wrestle with inside my own head ….

Having nothing else to do, and convinced that Edward would now be too intimidated to speak to me, I began idly drawing on the cover of my notebook. I wasn't trying to be artistic. I could draw, sort of. Instead, I was simply letting the pen I was holding scribble out a series of intertwined circles.

As I did so, I let myself ponder. I wasn't accustomed to having an intellectual rival, especially not at a public school. The teacher's assumption, while insulting and chauvinistic, revealed that Edward was very advanced for his age. I'd run across only a handful of students over the years who were more intelligent than the teachers instructing them. Apparently, I'd found another one. Why was that? How was it that the Cullens and I seemed to have so much in common? I didn't really believe in Fate, per se. However, I did understand the concept of inevitability. Eventually, I was bound to run into someone who had some sort of similar – and I use the term lightly – back-story or intellect. What I found unnerving was the condensing of all these similarities into one group of people who, by happenstance and tragedy, were all in the same place at the same time as me. That level of fluke was just unprecedented.

Curious, as always, I found myself examining him again – this time with a more positive base than before. He truly was a remarkable creature to look at. I thoroughly understood why the female staff members, specifically the secretary, found him attractive. Beyond the obvious perfection of his features, he had a way of carrying himself that most teenagers lacked. A sense of self that few achieved until they were too old to fully utilize its allure. I'd met men in their eighties who weren't as sure of themselves as this adolescent was.

Now that I was looking – actually looking – I felt as though there were something wrong with his beauty. It didn't look out of place on him, quite the opposite, in fact. Despite that, it was … peculiar. There wasn't a single flaw in his pale visage. I shook off the suspicious feeling. There was no need to take this examination too far ….

He hadn't been looking at me throughout most of my assessment. He'd been examining the back of his hands. He glanced back at me for a second and I finally noticed his eyes. I'd met them plenty of times today and I knew that there had been something different about them. It wasn't until this moment, however, that I recognized what the difference was. The last time I'd seen him his eyes had been midnight black. Today, they were a warm amber color.

"Did you get contacts?" The words were out of my mouth before I'd fully processed what I was seeing.

This confused me. The color was almost fantastical. I'd seen pale brown eyes before. This was not pale brown. This was … almost golden.

He looked a little bemused at my question, "No."

"Oh," I mumbled. I looked away, thinking.

"Why do you ask?" There was definitely amusement in his voice.

_Great._ I was a joke, now. "It's nothing. I just thought there was something different about your eyes …."

I saw his shrug from the corner of my eye but couldn't bring myself to look at him. He probably thought I was some kind of crazed stalker. Why else would I imagine a change in the color of his eyes? It wasn't like we'd spent an inordinate amount of time together. Before today, I'd had only two chances to look at him up-close.

Mr. Banner called for the class' attention at that moment. I was grateful, more than I should have been. Edward wouldn't have much chance to talk to me now; or think about me, for that matter. It was best. I should leave him alone. I should be polite but discouraging. Was that a possibility?

Grumbling internally, I maneuvered my hair so that it fell between my face and his. The modicum of privacy was more for his benefit than my own – mostly ….

When the bell rang, Edward was once again out of his seat and through the doorway before anyone else. He hadn't spoken another word to me after my embarrassing gaffe about the non-existent contacts. As I walked with Mike to gym, I contemplated the available information. What, besides contact lenses, could cause someone's eyes to shift in color?

* * *

><p>Gym wasn't a nightmare, per se. I was, of course, forced to dress out and participate in the continuation of the volleyball games. I was actually passable at the game … when I wasn't distracted. I couldn't get over the events of biology. What in the <em>world<em> could have made me tell Edward what I had? It wasn't like my re-orphaning was any big secret, basically everyone in Forks knew. No, it was more the fact that I'd _told_ him anything at all. Polite chitchat was one thing. Confessionals were another. I didn't want this boy feeling sorry for me. If he took an interest, as many of the males here seemed to, then I'd have a harder time keeping things from him.

By the time the coach dismissed us, I had probably convinced half my gym class that I was some sort of dysfunctional klutz. I'd been so distracted during play that I'd run into two girls on my team and knocked the volleyball out of bounds more than I'd like to admit. My mind had been so preoccupied – ok, obsessed – with the change in Edward that I hadn't been able to keep it on the game. I wasn't even sure which team won …

The rain had eased up by the time I made it out of the locker room. The air had that distinct post-wetness heaviness and chill. Mike Newton was waiting for me when I left, leaning heavily against the brick wall. I pasted a smile on my face though I really felt like frowning. I was fairly certain that I was going to have to put my foot down soon – possibly on his instep ….

Mike walked me to the parking lot, trying to commiserate with me over the ruined snow. Apparently, he'd been planning some sort of epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot at the end of school. For the briefest of moments, my mind hallucinated giant slushy mush-balls being flung hither and thither all around the parking lot. I shivered at how close I had come to being caught in the assault. I'd have to actually start paying attention to the conversations at my lunch table from now on – rather than just simply _pretending_ to listen. The last thing I wanted to do was miss more information that might be pertinent to my state of dryness.

Mike and I said goodbye at the edge of the parking lot and headed off toward our respective cars. I gratefully climbed into the cab of the T-Bird and turned over the engine. As I waited for the heater to start working, I scanned the lot, watching the cars slowly disperse. As I did so, my eyes were drawn to the Cullen children. They were all folding themselves gracefully into the shiny silver Volvo. In that moment, everything clicked. Doctor Cullen. The upscale clothes, particularly for a place as sheltered as Forks. The fancy car. Edward and his family were wealthy – wealthier than the majority of the Olympic Peninsula population. Go figure. Not only were they beautiful and intelligent, I assumed the others were _at least_ as bright as Edward was, they also had money. How was it that those things always seemed to go hand in hand? Well, the intelligence and the money made sense. If you were intelligent, you could get into a good college, succeed, and graduate with a high-level, high-demand degree which would then allow you to procure a high-paying job. I suppose, if I followed that logic, the beauty made some sense, too. Plastic surgery was expensive …. However, I didn't think that any of the Cullen children had been operated on. They seemed to simply _be _beautiful.

When I got home, I eagerly dialed the Port Angeles dance studio. A computer answered to route the call. I selected the option for class schedules and learned that the next class started April first and that registration and dues would have to be paid by the last week in March. I maneuvered through the touch-tone options once more so that I could find out how much the classes were. Quite reasonable, actually. Particularly in comparison to the prices in Santa Cruz. I had more than enough money in my wallet to cover the expense. So, now I just had to make a trip to Port Angeles. Maybe I could take the Porsche ….

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well, I hope you all liked it! ****Please Review!**** It helps motivate me to put more chapters up.**


	3. Chapter 3: Phenomenon

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_ **- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_ **or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on. In this chapter, we get the ever-exciting car crash/Edward rescue. Plus you get to learn a little more about Lily's past. Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

I woke up shivering, not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, but still unwelcome. I groaned to myself and rolled over to stare at the face of my alarm clock. It wasn't there. This confused me a little. It'd been on my nightstand last night, hadn't it? I propped myself up on my elbows, making certain to keep a majority of my body under the blankets, and scanned the floor. Nope, not there either. I leaned further and noticed the thick black power cord snaking underneath my bed.

_Ah-ha!_ Grudgingly, I stuck my arm out from beneath the sheltering layers of cotton to pull the cord up toward me. The luminescent face followed after a series of tugs. Pleased with my minor victory over the elusive digital alarm clock, I placed it on my end table without reading the time.

Light was beginning to creep lazily through the perimeter of my blinds. It took me a few minutes to realize that there was something different about it. It was sunlight, no mistake about it, but, somehow, it was brighter … more colorful. As I lay there, attempting to analyze the quality, my alarm went off right beside my ear. The high pitched squealing made me jump, and I glared dolefully at the little contraption before turning it off.

I stretched lazily before forcing myself to rise from bed. The floor, though carpeted, was glacial. Not for the first time since arriving, I contemplated purchasing slippers … or big, fluffy socks. My movements were hindered by both the icy temperature and my grogginess. I slogged my way to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. Something told me that I would regret this when I was back out in my room, but I wasn't going to think about that now. I would enjoy the scalding water for as long as I could.

When I got out, racing in a much undignified way to scramble into warm clothes, I found a slip of paper on my bed. Julia had written me a note:

* * *

><p>"Lily,<p>

I had to leave early. Be careful driving to school and don't get over 20.

Julia"

* * *

><p>This didn't make any sense. Why would I want to go so slow? It wasn't like I'd never driven in rain before. Clothed and moderately warmer, I walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. I stood there frozen. Now I understood why the light had been so … colorful. Every single surface of the outside world was covered with a thin transparent layer of ice. The effect was stunning – like thousands of tiny diamonds covered everything. The problem was … there was a thin layer of ice covering everything.<p>

This wasn't my first ice storm. I'd been in one back east not too long ago. The vision was something to see. The reality was something else altogether. I stood there, transfixed by the prism of lights reflecting through my now-thicker windowpane. I'd always stayed _inside_ whenever I'd been through one of these. It was generally a safer course of action. People tended to lose whatever common sense they possessed, not that many had an abundance to begin with, whenever the weather conditions were less than desirable.

Tentatively, I contemplated just getting back into bed. Julia wouldn't appreciate me skipping school. It was obvious, from her note, that she expected me to go. Since she'd known I was awake I couldn't fake being sick. Well … that left me no options. _High-ho, high-ho, it's off to school I go …._

The thirty or so foot journey between the front porch and the garage door was precarious at best. I slipped twice but managed to keep from losing my balance completely. Not for the first time, I thanked Steph's motto of always being prepared. Most of my shoes had at least some semblance of a heel on them. However, she'd insisted on my buying a pair that was flat and had some good traction on the bottoms. Without those, I was fairly certain my jeans would have been covered in damp, possibly muddy, splotches by the time I slid into my first class.

I barely touched the accelerator on my way to school. Even with the limited pace and my over-compensative checking of blind spots, I followed a dilapidated Toyota through the parking entrance before the first bell rang. A perfunctory scan of the lot revealed the steadfastness of the local population. While not completely full, a majority of the usually occupied spots were taken. I'd half expected the greater part of the student body to ditch considering the less-than-favorable weather. I would have, if I could have gotten away with it ….

Those students who were unaffected by the sub-zero – all right, near-freezing – temperatures were congregated in small packs around the outskirts of the parking lot. Normally, I wouldn't have paid any heed to these prime examples of Darwinian Evolution. However, several seemed bent on adding their names to the oft-coveted list of Darwin Award nominations. A group of boys were dare devilishly propelling themselves, book-laden backpacks and all, along a long, slick spread of ice which angled itself precariously into the path of arriving vehicles. The object of their amusement seemed to be extricating themselves from the death-slide _before_ they reached the edge of the asphalt. Not all of the attempts were successful ….

Having decided that I didn't much relish the idea of appearing in court on a charge of vehicular homicide – unintentional or not – I maneuvered through the rows of parked cars toward the back end of the lot. As I scanned my mirrors, I caught sight of the Cullens' shiny Volvo. It was in its usual place, front row, adjacent to the sidewalk leading through the brick buildings. Even the cursory glance I took told me that Edward was there. His reddish hair was unmistakable.

Carefully angling my car into an open spot away from other vehicles, I allowed my mind to focus on him. Something about him was so … mysterious. This was both intriguing and annoying. There were so few people that were even remotely interesting to me. Why was it that he had to catch my attention? Engrossing as it was, this growing fascination was not my only Edward-related concern. I was still trying to figure out the mystery regarding his eyes. I couldn't understand why anyone would lie about having or getting contacts. It wasn't as if having bad vision was a crime ….

Grumbling to myself in a dissatisfied manner, I turned off the car. Dutifully, I checked my mirrors and blind spots before opening the door. I'd chosen a spot well away from the vast majority of already-present cars but it was best to be careful. I was a good driver. Most teenagers weren't. The moment my foot hit the ground, I understood why so few vehicles had been parked on this end of the lot. This area sagged slightly into a very minimal pothole-like crater, allowing for the ever-present water to pool within it. And, as such, the ice storm had frozen the little makeshift lake into a single solidly-slick surface. My shoes could barely find purchase on the pavement. Still, I was resolved not to move my car. I was already _here_ and soon I would be over _there_ – on the sidewalk, preferably.

Awkwardly clinging to the metal frame of my car, I reached into the back seat and yanked my backpack toward me. The added momentum caused my right leg to slide across the slick asphalt, putting me precariously off-balance. Despite gravity's insistence, I managed to rearrange my footing and remain vertical. As I pushed the car door shut and slung my bag over my shoulder, I heard a peculiar sound. It was high pitched and grating at the same time … sort of like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.

The noise was so insistent that I looked up from my feet, which I had been focusing on the placement of. In that moment, everything became very clear. As my eyes raked upward, I caught sight of a single person's expression. A boy, a junior whom I'd met several times, with dark brown eyes held wide in shock and fear was staring straight at me. The canvas of his face portrayed terror better than that of any painting in existence. His hands were frantically jerking at the leather-bound wheel in front of him, a wheel which was not moving, despite his tugs.

Of more immediate importance, however, was the large blue van careening across the ice-covered pavement, tires locked, brakes screeching in protest. Through the haze of initial shock, I could easily determine the trajectory of the out-of-control van. With a physically jarring suddenness, I understood that it was going to collide with the back end of my car, and I was standing directly between the two. Even had I the mental faculties to do so, I couldn't make my body move fast enough to get out of the way. In the seemingly infinite time between seconds, a devastating thought crossed my mind. I'd survived so much in my long, long life which should have killed me that I'd begun to think of myself as immortal, invincible. For the first time in almost half a century, I realized that this wasn't true. I might _actually_ die from this.

My last coherent thought, before the shock fully consumed me, was of Edward Cullen. I realized that I would never get the chance to figure out the solution behind his mysteriousness. As though bidden, my eyes sought him out – one last look before I would see no more ….

He was looking at me, his face frozen in a mask of shocked outrage. In my peripheral vision, I could vaguely make out the expression on his sister's face. Alice Cullen's eyes were locked on me, her pixie-like features pulled into a faintly oblivious expression of shock and horror. Despite this, somehow, I was sure she wasn't actually seeing me. Barely registering this, I locked my eyes on Edward's.

_Goodbye,_ I thought softly, regrettably. _I'm sorry._

I held his gaze until the gravelly shrieking from the enforcer of my approaching death could no longer be ignored. Terrified beyond all reckoning, my eyes were drawn back to watch my executioner. Unable and unwilling to witness the machine of my destruction actually accomplish the deed I closed my eyes and waited.

In the timeless span between life and death, my mind conjured her face. Hazel eyes stared consolingly back at me from an oval face of light olive skin. Dark brown hair hung in ringlets around the seraphic visage, completing the hallucination. My mind had captured this image with perfect clarity for my last moments. My first memories were of this face, decorated with a few less wrinkles, but still the same. It was fitting that it would also be the last I would see.

_Tata Marie … je suis désolé. _The thought was painful and yet tinged with happiness. If I was lucky, I would see her again soon ….

The impact that came surprised me, it was too early and from the wrong direction. Instead of being carried back the three feet or so to be crushed against the trunk of my car, I was shoved onto my left side, the weight of my assaulter pressed against my right side. My head smacked sharply against the icy concrete. Tense as a compressed spring, the shock of the unexpected caused my eyes to snap open.

The first thing that registered was the proximity of the van. It was still coming, its side merely feet from my face. In that moment, my survival instincts kicked in. What before was stymied by fear and shock was now clear. I didn't want to die like this. It wasn't fair! If a car was supposed to be the death of me, why hadn't I been with Alex and Stephenie?

My arms, though not impervious by any means, were stronger than those of most people. Maybe I could use that strength to help myself. Maybe I could ….

Without conscious thought, my hands sprang out in front of me, braced to absorb the force of the impacting van. Vaguely, I registered the fact that my arms were not the only ones extended toward the metal wall bearing down on me.

Abruptly, there was a pressure so severe inside my head that I felt as though my skull would explode. Unconsciously, I tried to control the pain, to push it away, push it out so that I could focus on the more pressing matter – the blue death fast approaching.

As I mentally focused on propelling the agonizing pressure away from myself, I felt something inside me shift. It was as if the force within my head was tangible, as though it actually had physical presence instead of being merely a reaction of nerves within my brain to the stress of my present situation. Had I the time, I would have analyzed this. However, I had other concerns ….

I heard the back end of the van strike the trunk of my car, the metallic groaning adding to the cacophony of unpleasant noises already assailing my ears. Then, finally, the side of the van altered its direction and angled toward my prone form.

Suddenly, I was cast into old memories … frightening ones. I felt as though I was seventeen again, in that tiny little room in Italy; trying desperately to get away from the monsters coming for me. The pressure inside my skull throbbed more forcefully, building and ebbing at a steady rate matching that of my heartbeat. Abruptly, I remembered having felt this before … having done something about it. Just like I had in that terrifying, unfamiliar room nearly one hundred years ago, I lashed out mentally. In an explosion of pain and ecstasy, I flung the agonizing pressure out toward the object of my fear and loathing.

Absently, I recognized the sound of a nearby grunt. However, my mind was so completely focused on stopping the van in its tracks that I didn't bother trying to understand _why_ I heard it. Suddenly, as though the frame had made contact with something solid, the van jerked to a stop, rocked back onto its far wheels for a split second, and then fell back to both sets of wheels; windows shattering on impact. My outstretched fingers lay half an inch from the deep blue side.

With a rapidity so acute it was physically jolting, everything came into focus. I clearly saw the pair of pale white arms, their hands pressed firmly into matching dents in the side of the van's door, extended on either side of my own. I could feel my back pressed against something rock hard and cool. I could feel my legs tangled up with those of another person. The only things that seemed to be missing were the sounds of breathing, even my own familiar inhalations were absent.

I wasn't alone. Someone else was here with me.

After a few seconds, the white hands lowered and I could feel the person behind me shift.

"Lily, are you all right?" The cool voice was slightly unfamiliar. I hadn't heard it carry this note of panic before.

"I'm fine." The automatic response sounded _off_. Maybe it was because I wasn't really breathing.

A half second later, I finally realized who I was talking to. Edward Cullen was lying here on the cold, wet ground, wrapped protectively around me. Abruptly uncomfortable – what did he see? – I tried to maneuver myself into a sitting position. For some reason, my arms and legs didn't seem to be completely in my control. They were … languid, sluggish.

Edward, positioned behind me as though we were spooning, used his free arm to keep me in place, "Be careful. I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I was beginning to feel light headed, sounds were fading between overly sharp clarity and muffled mumblings. I could clearly make out the sounds of people yelling my name on the other side of the van and yet I couldn't hear the boy next to me breathing. From the yelling, I figured out the driver's name – Tyler Crowley. They were trying to get him out of the van so that they could move it to get to me.

I took this brief interference as a sign, using it to attempt calming my breathing and heart rate. Edward shifted slightly again, as though trying to put as much distance between us as possible in the tiny space.

The spinning feeling inside my head didn't seem to be lessening, so when he shifted, I forced myself into a sitting position. For a few seconds, I simply tried breathing deeply. The action provided little alleviation of my wooziness.

In short order, another sensation began demanding my attention. Over the lingering scents of motor oil, burned rubber, and leaking fluids from the van, I caught a whiff of something unfamiliar. Sweet and yet musky with a trace of something hinting of danger. I tried focusing on it but couldn't quite identify the source.

I'd been sitting for less than thirty seconds when a wave of nausea washed over me, accompanied by acute exhaustion. Whatever I had done with the van was taking its toll. The air my breathing was bringing in seemed to be filling my head rather than my lungs.

I swayed, unable to stay vertical, and Edward's hands shot out to steady me. He might have said something, but I wasn't sure. Everything was so … fuzzy.

Through the haze filtering over my eyes, I managed to mumble a half-formed question, "How did you …? You were over …." I knew what I was trying to say. I wasn't lucid enough to say it, but I knew that I wanted an answer. He'd been across the lot, next to his sister and his car. How had he managed to make it to me before the van had?

Instead of answering me, he looked down at my face, his eyes swimming pools of gold, a worried expression on the chiseled features. His jaw tightened for a moment and then his eyes widened. He looked between the rear of the van, wrapped in an odd, encompassing embrace with the rear of my T-Bird, and the right side of the van a short distance away. When his eyes returned to mine, they were full of questions.

"How did I? How did _you_?"

_My God,_ I thought as the darkness closed in around me. _What have I done?_

* * *

><p>The noise was repetitive and familiar – the all-too predictable <em>drip, drip, drip<em> of water. Every single muscle in my body was tense, sore. I was mentally conscious for long moments before I could force my eyes open. My vision was … hazy, at best. I couldn't make out much in the way of my surroundings. I was lying on something, not the ground but something nearly as uncomfortable. I tried to rotate my neck but I couldn't quite make it obey me. The shocking pain that jolted up my nerves into my brain forced me to take in a gasping breath. That pain brought other sensations forward.

Suddenly, the dull, throbbing pain of overworked, much-abused muscles wasn't the only one I felt. I could feel something tugging at the skin on the back of my left hand. My head was swimming, unfocused. The twinge of tenderness in my neck seemed to radiate from the collection of close-knit raised half-crescent scars on the back right nape. It was cold, too. The tips of my fingers and toes were unpleasantly numb.

I laid there as still as possible, trying desperately to remember how I'd gotten here. I knew I wasn't outside anymore. I'd been taken somewhere since I'd lost consciousness. The last thing I remembered with any degree of clarity was the look on Edward Cullen's face, shocked disbelief at having realized that I'd done something _strange_.

Something squeaked, breaking me out of my reverie. The sound – high pitched and short – reminded me of the noise a rat made when trying to scavenge food. The noise it made right before it bit ….

_NO!_ I forced my tired, injured muscles into action, scrambling for the nearest wall.

Everything was suddenly, impossibly clear to me. _They'd_ found me! _He_ must have sensed what I'd done! I'd basically provided a beacon pointing out my location. Somehow, _they_ must have taken me away from the scene of the accident … taken me back to Italy.

As I wrestled with my body, trying to force it to move against its will or ability, I realized that my legs were tangled up in something. I reached down, tearing at the cloth bindings with my nails, haste and dexterity warring with one another.

My breathing was hitching; I could feel the tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to be back here! I'd been free of this for fifty years! I didn't want to be _his_ toy again! I wouldn't survive it this time – I wouldn't let myself. I'd find a way out, even if it meant killing myself ….

As I struggled with the seemingly encompassing fabric, I heard something move. I wasn't alone. I'd been trying to be quiet, but I must have alerted whatever else was in here. I froze, trying to hear where it was.

_Dear, God. Just don't let it be _him ….

Abruptly, my weary eyes were assaulted by bright golden light. I hissed involuntarily and flung my arms up over my face, trying to shield it from whatever was with me. A sharp pain shot through the back of my left hand as I pulled it up and tightened it into a fist.

Hands were placed on my shoulders, their long, strong fingers wrapping around me to hold tight. My first instinct was to freeze. My second was to fight. I braced myself, internally, and made ready to strike out at _him_. _He_ was the only one who would have sat in this dungeon room with me, observing my unconscious recovery.

"Lily! Lily, honey! You're okay. It's okay." My shoulders were shaken slightly, softly. The voice wasn't _his_. It was feminine … kind.

I froze completely, refusing to even breathe. The voice was familiar, safe. It belonged in a world where the monsters of my past no longer hungered and hunted for me. It belonged in a life I had thought lost forever.

Slowly, cautiously, I lowered my arms from their protective position over my face and squinted up at the woman holding onto me. She was blurry around the edges, but her dark brown hair and eyes were distinguishable. Worry painted itself heavily on brow and the corners of a naturally upturned mouth. I _knew_ this face ….

I drew in a shaky breath to clear my head.

"It's okay, honey. You're all right. Everything is okay." The woman eased her grip on my shoulders and raised a hand to brush it soothingly through my hair.

This action was … familiar. I tried again to recall her name.

"Julia …?" I whispered it in surprise. Did that mean I wasn't in Italy? Did that mean I was still in Forks?

"Yes, honey. It's me." A smile flooded the angular face, cementing my certainty of identity.

When realization settled in a few seconds later, I understood that I wasn't in Italy. Julia wouldn't be here, if I was. But … if I wasn't there, where was I?

"Where … am I?" I looked around the newly illuminated room. It took only a moment's glance to answer my own question. Every single hospital in the continental US had the same sort of layout and basic gear.

"You're in the hospital, hun. Do you remember what happened?" She perched her weight on the edge of my bed and ran a soothing hand over my forehead.

"Happened?" The word was out of my mouth before I'd actually processed the question. Of course I knew what had happened. I wasn't likely to forget such a major infraction of secrecy.

"You were in an accident in the school parking lot, hun. One of the students lost control of his car on the ice."

"Where's Edward?" This question held vital importance to me. Oddly, I felt more anxious to learn his wellbeing than of any revelations he may or may not have made about my own … actions.

"Edward is fine. All three of you – Edward, Tyler Crowley, and you – were brought into the ER. Edward's father, Dr. Cullen, examined you all and said that Edward was fine. You and Tyler are here for observation."

Observation. Great. That was the last thing I needed. "When can I go home?" Though highly important to me, the answer wasn't what was preoccupying me at the moment. I didn't like hospitals – well, being a _patient_ in hospitals. They got to perform _far_ too many probative tests on patients; tests that could reveal too much about my … person.

Julia smiled reassuringly at me, "You have to stay overnight, hun. But, if your tests check out, we can go home in the morning."

This fact, though reasonable on almost all levels of analysis, irritated me. I was upset to find myself waking up in a hospital in the first place. Not the best situation to find myself in, overall. Moreover, I was beginning to worry about what conclusions the beautiful mysterious Cullen boy had come to while I was unconscious. He'd known that I had done something … odd … with the van. He'd felt it, the explosion of force that had radiated out from me.

Then, as I contemplated conclusions, my mind wondered over what my unknown test results would show. I'd never allowed a doctor to run a full panel of tests on me before. I knew I was different than a normal human. I didn't know _how_ different, but I was fairly certain that my body had gone through a series of changes since 1918 – otherworldly changes. That being the case, I wasn't sure what would or would not show up in formal medical tests. It was always better to avoid the situation. This time I hadn't had that choice. What would happen now? Would I be found out?

As I sat there, contemplating looming disaster, I realized that it was dark beyond the limited ring of lamplight expanding from the nightstand. I'd registered this earlier, before the light had come on, but I hadn't quite understood what it meant. It must be night. Julia had worked the morning shift – I'd read her note. Why was she still at the hospital? Surely she was off work ….

"Why are you here?" The question was rude and only partially thought out when I said it. I was looking inquisitively at Julia.

Julia smiled warmly at me and placed her hand back on my brow, "Where else would I be, hun?"

She'd meant it as a rhetorical question, I realized this, but I answered it nonetheless. She _should_ be at home, shouldn't she? She was off work. Why would she linger at the hospital after work? I didn't loiter on school grounds once the final bell rang.

"Why aren't you at home sleeping?"

The look on Julia's face was perplexed as she examined my expression. I didn't understand why. I thought the question was perfectly logical.

"Because you're here and I'm here to be with you."

"Why?" Her thought processes weren't making any sense. Why would she need to be here simply because I was?

The quizzical look on her face cleared to be replaced by an indulgent smile, "Because we're family."

"We are?" I was in no frame of mind to be diplomatic. I was exhausted and still hadn't quite gotten my mind back to normal, "But … I'm not your daughter. I'm not even _your_ niece."

Julia's smile deepened and her hand traced over the top of my head, as though she were petting me, "Yes, you are."

"But, Alex and Steph adopted me! I wasn't their daughter! I'm just …" I struggled to find the right word. This was a sensitive topic for me. I'd always been a discard, a reject. Something left behind by those that should have cared for it most …. "… just a castoff!"

Concern pasted itself firmly at the corners of Julia's eyes. "You are not a castoff, Lily. You are just as much Alex and Stephenie's daughter as one born to them would have been – more so."

"But …" It couldn't be true.

"Lily, listen. I'm going to tell you a little secret, all right?"

I nodded, unsure what a secret would have to do with the current subject matter.

"Family doesn't come from blood or birth. Family comes from love. Family are the ones you want there on the best day of your life and the ones you turn to on your worst."

Without warning, my vision was blurred and oddly magnified. It took the warm wetness of newly fallen tears touching my cheek before I understood that I was crying. I felt oddly open … vulnerable. "I've been nothing but black luck since I arrived. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for anything to happen."

The last sentence was more telling than I had realized. I wasn't simply apologizing for the accident that had ended Alex and Steph's lives or for the one that landed me here. I was apologizing for _everything_ – every single thing that had happened throughout my entire existence. It didn't matter to me that Julia knew nothing about most of it. It only mattered that I tell her how sorry I was.

"Hush now, Lily. Hush." Julia placed her hand under me and lifted my body up so she could embrace me, "There's nothing to apologize for. It wasn't your fault – none of it has been." She carefully laid me back down and adjusted the blanket up to tuck me in tighter. "None of this is your fault. You can't help what's happened. Life isn't a pleasant walk in the park, honey. You know that better than most. But let me tell you something: you don't have to go through it alone. I'm here and I love you, too. That won't ever change."

Julia's words, though comforting and her own, reminded me of something that had been said to me long ago by a woman in her exact role in my life. Before I could hold the memories at bay, I was lost to them.

* * *

><p>It had started out a pleasant warm summer day in 1917. It had turned into one of the worst days of my life – the day my <em>strangeness<em> had struck out and hurt my youngest cousin, Ames. Everything had happened so quickly that I hadn't had a chance to stop myself. One moment Jacques was teasing and taunting me. The next Ames was lying under the remains of the old barn door; his arm badly broken.

Nothing like this had ever happened before, but I _knew_ it had been my fault. For as long as I could remember, strange things had happened around me whenever I was angry or frightened. My aunt, Marie, had always taken the occurrences in stride. Uncle Francois, however, had never been able to do so. He'd never quite accepted my presence in the family, probably because he hadn't been given a choice about my joining.

When he found us, Francois carried Ames back to the house and proceeded to lock me in a back bedroom while the doctor was sent for. I spent the long hot hours of the afternoon huddled in a corner crying my eyes out, alone and terrified of my involvement. _Haunted. Possessed._ That was what he'd called me before closing me in.

Shortly after darkness fell, she came to me. Even though her youngest was lying wounded in bed in another room, Marie took the time to come and check on me. I was a mess. I was terrified of what had happened, more of what I had done without wanting to rather than what would become of me now. Without anger or prejudice, my aunt herded me to the bed, tucked me in, and dried my tears.

Sixteen at the time, I hadn't understood what she was doing. I'd asked her why she was there. Marie had smoothed my hair and told me that she was there because we were family. Stubborn to a fault, I pointed out that I wasn't Marie's real daughter. Without stutter or hesitation she'd disagreed with me. She said that my father had brought me to her still wrapped in swaddling clothes and given me over to her care. She said she had cared for, taught, fed, and clothed me, and tended my hurts just as any mother would for her own child. To Marie, I was her daughter. No one could change that because family was more than birth – it was everlasting love, understanding, and patience.

I'd burst into tears at her unwavering acceptance of me and started apologizing for hurting Ames. I told her that I hadn't wanted to hurt him; that I didn't know what had happened.

Marie comforted me again and said that she forgave me. She said that she knew I hadn't meant anything to happen and that I couldn't control it. She told me that she loved me and always would, no matter how much trouble I got into.

* * *

><p>When the recollections faded to be little more than déjà vu, I was changed. In that instant, all of the walls I'd built up over the last ninety-odd years came tumbling down. For the first time in nearly a century, I didn't see life through the sharp-edged screen of loss and cynicism. I didn't see Julia's love and compassion as veiled contempt or pity. I instead felt hope, something sorely lacking from my existence for decades. My heart went out to Julia; this human woman who knew nothing of my reality or past and cared for me nevertheless. A woman whose own life had been far from easy and yet still gave her energies to helping those less fortunate than herself – both in her career and in her everyday life. For the first time in a century, I threw away all my inhibitions and truly joined someone's family. Nothing that came before, not even my connection with Alex and Stephenie, could measure against my link to the woman perched softly on my bed.<p>

"Thank you." It was all I could get out. The feeling of vulnerability was gone. I wasn't frightened of rejection or pain coming from Julia. I simply knew that she loved me, that she always would. No matter what happened or how far away I went, that fact wouldn't change.

"Right back at you, hun." Julia smoothed my hair again and leaned forward to kiss my forehead. Usually, I found that action patronizing. This time, I didn't.

The tears weren't quite gone when the door to my room opened. The man who walked into the light was … shocking. He was tall, blond, and more handsome than any TV doctor that had ever existed. His skin was ghostly pale and yet oddly luminescent in the faint lamplight. When my eyes reached his, I realized that they were nearly the same shade of pale gold as his hair. He looked like an archangel. I felt my breath catch and hold, much like it had the first time I'd seen Edward. Instinctively, I knew this must be Dr. Cullen. As I'd suspected, there was no similarity in their features save the level of perfection and coloring.

Even without the slightly bemused look on the doctor's face to confirm it, I knew my face held an expression of awed admiration. He held a clipboard under his arm and smiled warmly at me and Julia.

"Good evening, ladies." He scanned my face and his took on a concerned expression, "Are you in pain, Ms. Howard?"

His voice momentarily stunned me, it was soft, melodic, and extremely comforting. It took a second or so to get my mental faculties back in order. "No, I'm fine. Bad dream." I raised my left hand to swipe it across my cheeks only to realize that the tugging sensation I'd experienced was due to the IV taped to the back of it. _Ew_. I quickly changed hands, cringing slightly away from the intrusive needle, "Actually, I'm feeling much better. When can I go home?"

Dr. Cullen nodded and set his clipboard down before beginning his cursory exam of my injuries and vitals. When he was shining a penlight in my eyes, he answered me, "I'm afraid you'll have to remain overnight for observation. It's just a precaution since you lost consciousness. Other than that, if your test results don't reveal any lingering damage, you can go home in the morning."

Throughout his exam, I noticed that Dr. Cullen avoided my left hand and my right shoulder. This didn't register as overly odd right away, as I typically avoided looking at the scars as well, but I did log the incident in my memory. I doubted that humans could see these scars easily, the discoloration tended toward paleness which was well hidden by my own hue-less pallor. They could feel them, though. I knew the raised crescent marks were distinguishable via touch, and not only because I often absently rubbed the lingering reminder of my capture on the inner side of my wrist.

Dr. Cullen had moved on to checking the various clicking and beeping machines by the head of my bed when the door opened again.

"May I come in?" Edward peeked his glorious bronze head inside.

"Of course, Edward." Julia greeted him gratefully.

I got the impression that everyone had figured out that Edward had saved my life.

Nodding his head, he came through the door and quietly shut it behind himself, "Thank you. I just thought I'd stop by and check on Lily." His eyes scanned me briefly. It reminded me of the type of visual exam a doctor would give a patient.

My eyes hungrily drank in the sight of him. I tried to analyze his expression, wishing more than anything to catch a glimpse into his thoughts at that moment. It was after dark and Julia had said he'd been given a clean bill of health. As such, he had no reason to linger here at the hospital, unless he was there to visit his father. However, I sensed that he was there to see me, that he'd been waiting for me all day. What did he want?

Edward leaned casually against the wall as his father finished checking the machines, never taking his eyes from me. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, but it seemed to me that his gaze lingered momentarily on my left hand and right shoulder. Almost as though he _knew_ that I wanted to avoid having people notice those injuries.

"Everything seems to be in order, Ms. Howard. You were very lucky." He was scribbling on the medical chart on his clipboard.

"Yes. Very lucky that _Edward_ was there to push me out of the way." I shot a look of mixed irritation and wonder at the subject in question.

The doctor's scrawling skipped a beat before continuing, "Yes."

For the briefest of seconds, I heard the remembered echoes of warning bells in my head. The doctor _knew_. Edward must have told him about the accident. My stomach suddenly felt very hollow. Had the doctor ordered the tests run before or _after_ Edward had spoken with him?

"I'll see you in the morning. Have a good night." Dr. Cullen inclined his head politely to Julia and nodded at his son.

"I need to speak with Carlisle for a moment, Lily. Will you be all right here with Edward?" Julia stood and angled herself to follow Dr. Cullen out of the room.

My intuition piqued. Perhaps Julia sensed that Edward and I wanted to be alone. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'll be back in a bit. Ring for the nurse if you need anything." She shot a look at Edward which clearly said for him to do the same, should something go wrong.

I barely heard the door close behind her. Hurriedly gathering what little wits remained to me after my contact with Julia, I prepared to meet the oncoming inquisition head-on. Emotionally, I was a disaster and there was little I could do about it. My spirits were up but my mind had difficulty focusing on the task at hand. At the moment, I _needed_ to be concentrating on what to tell his boy to make the whole incident seem nothing out of the ordinary.

As I lay there, trying to gather my thoughts into a coherent mass, I remembered that _before_ I had done something to stop the van he had been all the way across the parking lot … at _his_ car.

Forgetting my own issues for the moment, I questioned him. "How did you get over to me so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Lily." His voice was cool and confident, as though he were merely stating a fact rather than a contrived falsity. There was no trace of chagrin or tenseness to his demeanor. The declaration sounded uncomfortably familiar – like a line flawlessly delivered from the lips of a well-trained actor … like similar lies I'd uttered over the years.

"No, you weren't. I saw you over by your car and your sister. You were across the lot." There was no way he was going to get away with this. I had decades more experience with lying than he did. There was no way a teenage boy would get the better of me in this category.

"No. I was standing right next to you and I pulled you out of the way. You hit your head pretty hard, Lily. Perhaps you simply forgot that part." He was straight-faced. There was no hint of the lie in his expression at all. However, a glimmer of something akin to hope flashed across his topaz eyes.

I shook my head vehemently and glared into his vivid, glorious face, "I haven't forgotten _anything_." I was ready to argue again, willing to force the truth out of him, if I had to. I was right and he was going to admit it.

He let out an exasperated sigh and adjusted his position, "What is it you _think_ happened, Lily?"

"I …" I had to be careful here. I didn't want to give away too much. "All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me when Tyler lost control of the van. You were standing by Alice – I _saw_ you there. The next thing I know, you were behind me with your arms stretched out and your hands buried in dents in the side of the van." I could see he was going to argue with me, so I simply raised a hand and continued, "That's what I _know_ – and don't tell me I hit my head too hard. If that were the case, your father wouldn't be telling me I could go home in the morning."

"If your tests check out." The corner of his mouth twitched up into a semblance of his enticingly crooked grin.

"They will, I'm sure." I didn't like being reminded of the looming guillotine in my future.

"So … you think I … what? Stopped a van from crushing you?" His tone was derisive, disbelieving.

I shrugged and nodded at the same time, a rather confusing mix that should leave him as baffled as I was. His assertion wasn't _precisely_ correct. I thought he'd raced at inhuman speed across the lot to stop the van from crushing me. This thought triggered a stream of sub-consciousness to emerge from the veiled half-formed realm of my mind home to fantasy and impossibility. _Inhuman Speed._ There was no way humanly possible for Edward to have reached me in time to be there when the van hit.

"No one is going to believe that, you know." His statement was confident. Moreover, it was a challenge. He was trying to put me on the defensive – offense as best defense. I knew this tactic. I'd used it many a time. Riling up emotions worked to vague out certainty of events.

I laughed somewhat derisively, triggering a series of painful aches from my ribs, "I wasn't intending to tell anyone."

His expression turned confused, "Then why does it matter?" He seemed generally befuddled. My honest admission of intended secrecy had thrown him off. He'd been expecting me to … what? Announce my conclusions to the world from on high?

"I suppose, in the larger scheme of things, it doesn't." _I just don't like being lied to …_. While a pertinent detail, being lied to was not the most relevant. That position belonged to my assumed identity. Overall, the events of today, be they of an otherworldly nature or not, would eventually fade from memory. In less than a century, how Edward had achieved his supernatural speed would be irrelevant because he would no longer exist. Whereas I would. Maintaining my anonymity was crucial to my survival. And _that_ was the bigger picture.

The room grew quiet as Edward examined my face. He seemed to be trying to determine how honest I was being. I let him, trying to read his expression, in turn. I wanted to know what he thought of my description. More so, I wanted to understand why he was so adamant about refusing my version. In my experience, people – teenagers, specifically – had a hard time refuting the claims of a confident opponent.

However, before I'd gotten far in my assessment, Edward must have seen the gleam of curiosity in my eyes. His body language became slightly more alert – almost cautious, "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Should I?" I was being stubborn, but I wasn't going to acquiesce without good reason. He hadn't brought up any of my own actions so, at the moment, I had no reason to worry that he'd fixated on them. He seemed more intent on disguising his own than in analyzing mine.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because …" His right hand came up and covered his eyes in a very frustrated gesture.

I snickered. If that was his best reason, I had won.

He stiffened at the sound and then lowered his hand to gaze back at me. For the briefest of moments, almost too fast for me to notice, his eyes flickered to my left hand. Then, taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and looked at me, "Fine." His tone was resigned and severe at the same time.

Now I was confused, "Fine?"

His stony expression shifted to one of guarded curiosity, "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" I knew _exactly_ what he was talking about but didn't wish to validate his own speculations. If I was going to be able to contrive a reasonable excuse for what he'd witnessed, I needed to know what he thought he'd seen.

His look turned vaguely patronizing, "I _felt_ it." His emphasis on the word _felt_ was intentional. He was telling me that he wasn't discounting the concussive burst of force that had erupted from me.

"Felt what? The van?" This conversation was not turning out the way I wanted it to. I needed to distract him or I was going to make a slipup. "You know, you're very lucky you didn't break your hands – or worse."

He raised an eyebrow at me but remained quiet. The impression I got was that he wouldn't say any more if I didn't.

I was more than happy to accept the treaty. "Never mind." I closed my eyes, fuming. I wanted to know how he'd done what he'd done. However, I wasn't fool enough to believe that I could wheedle his secrets out without having to reveal some of mine. I'd had enough of this conversation. It was time to let bygones be bygones. "Anyway. Thank you … for saving me." I pointedly looked in a different direction, dismissing him from the room.

He left quietly, without another word.

I was grateful.

* * *

><p>That night was the first night I dreamt of Edward Cullen. It was the first normal dream I'd had since the first week in January. A flitting of remembered senses from the morning of the accident: the gravelly shrieking of the careening van, the slick hardness of the pavement against my side, the frozen terror on Tyler's face, and the sweet, musky unknown scent which filled my nostrils and weighed heavily on my tongue when I awoke.<p>

In the morning, Dr. Cullen returned to tell me that my results had checked out and that I was free to go. On doctor's orders, Julia kept me home from school that day. I was told to return if I started to get headaches or began having trouble with my vision. I assured him that I would, knowing that I'd rather suffer the concussion and vision loss than subject myself to another series of tests.

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>_

_FRENCH:_

_Tata Marie ... je suis désolé - _Auntie Marie ... I'm sorry.


	4. Chapter 4: Invitations

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_ - **Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_** or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (**_Angel of the Night Watchers_**) for taking this on.**

**Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4:<strong>

The soft, consistent pitter-patter of misting raindrops on the roof was the calming ambiance that woke me the next morning. Though the light weaving through the thick olive-toned curtains was the dim, gray sunshine of an overcast day, the long tendrils spilling lazily over my comforter were warm and inviting. A quick peek at the glowing numbers on my clock showed that I was only ten minutes earlier in stirring that I should have been. Not wanting the clanging racket of timely rising to disturb the peace I felt, I flipped the switch off and lay basking in the slender finger of illumination crawling ever higher over the bed to gently touch my face.

Closing my eyes contentedly, I imagined how I must look lying face up on the bed, comforter pulled up to mid-chest, pale sunlight dancing playfully over my porcelain face, warming my skin to add hints of cherry color to cheekbones, nose, and forehead. Something like the fairytale image of Snow White, I'd wager. All I needed now was a glass coffin and a handsome prince to come kiss me awake.

From out of nowhere, my mind conjured a Prince Charming in glorious white and gold splendor with a red cape and bronze hair leaning over my imagined Snow White. Only when his face was turned to profile did I realize that it was Edward; his hair blazing fiery in the dim light, eyes the same metallic shade as the gold threading in his clothing.

Before the self-written fairytale could proceed along the predetermined plotline, I giggled – couldn't help it. Out of all the men I'd seen in my entire life, counting movie stars and such, my early-morning bedraggled brain had chosen Edward Cullen as the epitome of all things desirable.

The sound of my laughter, absent the usual taint of cynicism or sarcasm, was heartening. I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed for no other reason than that I found something amusing. Rare as it was, I relished the sound. It was a perfect way to start the morning.

Humming quietly to myself, I went through my morning routine.

It wasn't until I had emerged from my room – clothes on, backpack ready, shoes in hand – that I began to feel nervous. So much had changed in the last two days. Three days ago, I had been living my life by rote rather than actually experiencing it. I hadn't had any attachments that meant anything to me. There had been nothing here that I would have lamented the loss of. All of my secrets could have been laid bare for the entire town to see and my only regret would have been the need to leave the country again.

Now everything was different. Today, I stood in a completely new place. For the first time in more than a half-century I had something binding me here to this place, and it wasn't captivity or survival instinct. It was me, plain and simple. No matter how far I ran or how long I lived for, an integral part of me – of my heart and, possibly, my soul – would always be tied here. Tied to Julia Howard. Just as parts of me would always linger in France and Italy.

Standing in the living room, I finally came to grips with reality. I had something – someone – to live for now. I had something worth fighting for. It was a foreign concept to me – the desire, the _need_ to stay close to someone because I loved them. I realized, in that moment, that I would give anything I had, and possibly that which I didn't, to stay. And that was dangerous … very dangerous.

"Heading out already?" Julia was standing at the foot of the stairs watching my stationery form.

I jumped, having been so engrossed in my self-revelations that I hadn't heard her descent, "Not quite." I held up my shoes as answer and lowered my backpack to the couch so I could proceed with their donning.

"Are you feeling better?" Julia joined me on the couch and reached out to check my temperature.

"Yeah, actually. The shower helped with the soreness." I paused to let her gauge my warmth then preceded with tying the laces of my boots.

"That's good. I'm glad. If you want, though, I can send you with some Tylenol just in case."

"No, I should be fine." I smiled reassuringly at her and glanced toward the clock over the mantle. The time surprised me. I wouldn't have to leave for another fifteen minutes. My good mood must have expedited my routine.

"Okay." She patted my knee and rose from the couch, angling toward the kitchen and the ever-reliable coffee machine.

I followed her, leaving my bag on the cushions, and watched her add copious amounts of cream and sugar to her chocolate-flavored coffee.

"I'll bet your friends will be happy to see you today. I'm sure they've been worried." Julia's back was to me, so she didn't see me stiffen at the mention of _friends_.

"Yeah, I'm sure." The answer was forced but my nervous tone fit well enough to not raise suspicion.

For the first time since I'd seen his charmingly appealing face in my makeshift fairytale, I thought about Edward Cullen. He'd had two days without interference from me to spread whatever tales and gossip he wanted. What would I find, when I finally got to school? Would he have stuck to the tamed-down version of events that he'd insisted upon at the hospital or would he have started elaborating … specifying? My pulse was starting to race. Was I walking into a trap? I had no _idea_ what kind of people the Cullens were. Could I trust them not to reveal what they _thought_ they knew?

"Is something the matter, honey?" Julia had stopped prepping her coffee and was giving me a worriedly-inquisitive look.

"No, I'm fine. I was just thinking …" I needed to be careful here. She'd seemed fairly close to Dr. Cullen the other night and she did work with him on a regular basis. As such, she'd have a better insight into their nature than I would. "… about the Cullens."

"What about them?" She went back to her coffee, seemingly unconcerned with my curiosity.

"Well … I was just curious about them. I mean, Edward saved my life and all. He seems like a nice enough person," _despite his peculiar … abilities_, "It's just … the Cullens don't seem to have many friends …." I let my voice trail off as though I was embarrassed to be bringing up their seclusion.

Julia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat – something I'd never heard from her before, "People in this town are so … xenophobic. Just because the Cullens didn't come from here, people automatically think they're strange." She put the creamer back in the refrigerator with a little more force than was strictly necessary, "Just because they stick to themselves, people have to talk."

Time to backpedal, "The kids all seem really smart and they're very good looking …." I was trying to sound more complimentary, hoping it would help her be a little less riled.

It worked. She let out a low, throaty chuckle, "Well, you saw Dr. Cullen …" She let the name trail off suggestively, "It's a good thing he's happily married. Most of the nurses have a hard time concentrating when he's around."

I smiled invitingly, "I'm sure."

"Charlie – Chief Swan, I mean – was a little worried when the doctor moved in – what with all those teenagers. But not a one of them have caused any sort of trouble. Overall, our community is _very_ lucky to have them. Dr. Cullen is a great man – a great surgeon – and we're fortunate his wife wanted to live in a small town. I'm sure the larger hospitals in LA and such wanted him pretty badly." She sipped at her coffee and took a seat at the table.

"He seems so young to be a doctor." Dr. Cullen wasn't my primary concern but, considering the inkling I'd gotten about the doctor's 'in-the-know' status, I was open to hearing about his character.

"He is. Even younger when you think how they've taken care of those kids. Esme and Carlisle are very good people – much like Alex and Stephenie were. They're caring, compassionate people and they are absolutely devoted to those kids." She smiled warmly.

"That's really great. I can't understand why the kids at school seem to ignore them …."

"It's probably just that they stick to themselves. They aren't busy-bodies – like a _lot_ of the people I know around here."

"Probably." I glanced at the microwave and sighed, "I'd better go. Don't want to be late."

"Have a good day. I'll see you at dinner, hun." She patted the back of my hand once and then went back to drinking her opulently exotic coffee.

The T-Bird wasn't too badly damaged in the wreck. The old-style steel frame held up better than that of the relatively new van Tyler had been driving. Opening the trunk was now an impossibility and the rear tires and brake lights had needed replacing but, other than that, it was drivable. I didn't mind the scuffed and scratched paint, though I knew Alex would have pitched a fit if he'd been around to see it. Julia had offered to let me drive her car until mine was fixed, but I didn't see a point in depriving her of transportation. It wasn't until later that I realized that she might just want an excuse to drive my Porsche for a few days ….

When I got to school, I pulled around to the back end of the lot and parked without realizing that I was in the same spot I'd been in the morning of the accident. There were still shards of glass scattered across the asphalt and the telltale black skid-marks left by the van's tires. I tried not to think about what impulse had driven me to park in that exact spot.

Until that morning, I hadn't understood just how _uncomfortable_ being the center of attention for almost four-hundred people could be. From the moment I exited my vehicle, I was bombarded with questions about the accident by nearly everyone in school. It wasn't until I was seated in my second period class that I realized I didn't view the persistent inquiries in as annoying a light as I might once have. I did, however, wish they would stop. I was willing and ready to connect with Julia on a more personal level … not so much with everyone else.

In my experience, the quickest way to make people bored with whatever new gossip had sprung up was to tell the same mundane story over and over again with as few details as possible. Therefore, I stuck to this mantra. I told everyone that I didn't really remember much. I'd been standing next to my car talking to Edward and that he must have pushed me out of the way. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. That was it. Nothing more to say.

The problem was; no one else seemed to have seen Edward next to me until after the van had been pulled away. This was worrisome. Why was it that no one else had noticed him standing across the lot by his car?

It wasn't until Jessica had exclaimed her surprise at seeing the paramedics lead Edward out from behind the totaled van for the fifth time that I finally understood. No one else was as _aware_ of Edward as I always was. Not a single other person in the school watched him like I did. For all intents and purposes, the Cullen children had become invisible to their peers. Their self-imposed ostracism had been so successful that not even their staggeringly overwhelming beauty overcame it.

From the moment I arrived, I had been eagerly listening to accounts of the accident from other students. There wasn't a single version that seemed to take place from other than a spectator's viewpoint. It was remarkable to me that, curious as everyone seemed to be, no one had gone so far as to ask Edward what had happened. Instead, they had all impatiently waited for me and Tyler to return to school. Even the teachers seemed enthusiastic for details. Surely the faculty wasn't intimidated by the Cullens enough to avoid asking for Edward's account ….

Fourth period would be the first truly relevant test of Edward's integrity. It was the first class of the day which I shared with a member of his family. When I walked in, I quickly scanned the room for Alice Cullen. She was in her usual seat – far back left corner – staring intently at her workbook. She didn't look up when I took my seat several desks away. This was unusual and somewhat disturbing. Alice had shown at least some level of interest in me ever since the second day of school, though she'd never come right out and spoken to me.

By the time the tardy bell had rung, she still hadn't acknowledged my presence. Her amber eyes followed a direct, unwavering path from her workbook up to the chalkboard. It was almost as though she were unaware of there being _anyone_ else in the room besides herself and the teacher.

I suppose, in Alice's actions, I had my confirmation of Edward's character. If he'd been spreading lies and rumors about, his sister would likely have been among the first to receive them. Her disinterest revealed that he'd kept our unspoken pact. He hadn't said anything more to anyone else. However, I was certain that he'd mentioned something to his father.

Even with all but irrefutable proof of Edward's continued silence, I couldn't help watching Alice throughout the lesson. Some part of me expected her to turn and denounce me at any moment, not that I would have blamed her for doing so.

This near-constant surveillance brought some interesting things to light, however. Alice had a very peculiar way of sitting. She seemed to remain perfectly motionless for minute-long intervals and then, very deliberately, she would fidget. The actions, though not outwardly distracting, seemed forced. The girl's alabaster face never shifted in expression and yet her position would change. It almost looked as though she were moving only because it was expected for her to do so.

Much to my embarrassment, I found Tyler Crowley lingering outside of the classroom when I emerged. He seemed intent on making amends for the accident in some way. He sat at our now-crowded lunch table, despite Mike and Eric's coldness toward him. This apparent rivalry worried me. I wasn't eager to gain another unknowing suitor. I could see being casual friends with a number of my companions. However, romantic interests were still well beyond the purview I intended to allow.

Discretion was key during lunch periods. There were already whispers about the 'lingering gazes' Edward and I had engaged in earlier that week. I didn't need those rumors to be worsened by my actions. Be that as it may, I couldn't refrain from casting surreptitious glances toward that now familiarly distant table. I was trying to see if the other Cullens had that same forced way of moving – as though it wasn't what came natural to them.

This proved difficult as my attention was constantly being claimed by one or another of my companions. Conversation topics all revolved around my miraculous survival. Jessica was the most adamant for details. After repeated insistence of ignorance on my part, she's given up on getting a more up-close and personal account of the accident. She did, however, manage to catch me off guard. I had been telling everyone that I'd been standing by my car talking to Edward before Tyler's van had swerved toward us. This minor facet hadn't been particularly relevant to a majority of my audience. To Jessica, on the other hand, this was of vital importance.

"What were you and Edward talking about, anyway?" Her voice held a note of deep curiosity.

The question had caught me off guard. Her previous sentence hadn't led into this one. "What?"

"Before the van hit you. What were you talking about?" Her tone now carried a thick layer of irritation. I had the vaguest impression that Jessica enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual presence, which didn't seem to bother me as much as it once had.

"Oh … I don't really remember …." This wasn't something I had put a lot of thought in to. Moreover, I hadn't corroborated with Edward – not that I was truly concerned she would check with him.

Jessica's lips pursed – a sure sign of disbelief.

Time to think fast, "I think he was trying to apologize." _Apologize?_

"For what?" She leaned toward me and flicked a glance at the back of Edward's head.

"Uh … for something he said during biology the other day. It's not important …." I hoped she would drop it. I wasn't going to go into details.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

After that debacle, I was free to study to Cullens for a few moments as Jessica launched into a second-by-second description of what she'd seen during the accident. In an oddly content manner, I was grateful for her spotlight-nabbing. I wasn't comfortable being the center of attention over this incident. The sooner people forgot it, the better.

A series of covert examinations later, I was beginning to feel a little uneasy. All of the Cullens seemed to share that same strange mechanical feeling to their movements, as though they were done for an observer's benefit rather than their own. Contrarily, despite the full trays of food resting on the tabletop in front of each, they never ate or drank anything. They didn't even appear to be speaking to one another.

Mike and Angela stuck close to my side as I walked from the cafeteria to biology. He was attempting to commiserate with me over the ruined snow, the weather had edged toward the warmer half of the near-freezing spectrum since the morning of the accident. According to the weatherman, that brief flurry would be the only one this season. I tried to sound regretful that he hadn't had the opportunity to stage a world-ending snowball fight in the school parking lot but I don't think I succeeded. Frankly, I was quite pleased that the possibility of being pelted with mushy lumps of mostly-frozen water was quashed.

Walking in the door and catching sight of the muted winter sunlight dancing among the casually disarrayed strands of Edward's auburn hair made me smile. Having spent large portions of my day repeating the counterfeit story of his off-handed rescue to numerous people, I'd slowly become more and more grateful to the peculiar, handsome boy who'd saved me. My former irritation with his lingering mysteriousness had faded to be replaced by a deep thankfulness and respect. This unexpected gratitude had, in no way, diminished my curiosity with regards to his previous _unnatural_ actions. However, I found that suspicion had given way to intrigue.

Once close enough, I greeted him politely, hoping to convey through my tone how appreciative I was. Moreover, the simple statement was meant to illustrate my willingness to stick to our hitherto unspoken truce. "Hello Edward."

I'd expected more of a reaction from him than I'd gotten. His head angled a fraction of an inch in my direction and dipped into a curt nod. Never once did his eyes stray in my direction. Not a single syllable did he utter. From that point on, I earned less recognition than an errant breath of wind would have.

* * *

><p>Life went on in this same manner for weeks. Between school and Julia, there was never enough of a respite to re-erect the formerly insurmountable barriers I'd once enjoyed the protection of. As such, I'd found myself acting in ways I hadn't entertained in decades. Without the constant urge to hide behind those social and emotional walls, I somehow reverted back to the girl I'd been before tragedy and reality had inserted themselves firmly into my everyday life. Conversation and bantering came easier, though still providing ample opportunity for awkwardness on my part. In the absence of the overwhelming baggage I'd lugged on my shoulders for years, I allowed myself to relax. I made great efforts to be more polite to my companions in both actions and thought – though, at times, the later still proved difficult. Happiness came more readily when I wasn't putting all my efforts towards keeping everyone at arm's length. Remembering the names and faces of my lunchtime crowd became second nature. I could recognize, if not name, all the students and staff at the school. Even members of the community were becoming familiar. In short, I assimilated into the general population without having consciously made the effort.<p>

Not everything was sunshine and daisies, however. Although I was on friendlier terms with my _peers_, I wasn't fool enough to try to push for closer intimacies. There was never even a glimmer of possibility in my mind that our camaraderie could ever be more than casual – unwillingly superficial on my part. It wasn't that I didn't _want_ to build stronger relationships with them. The truth was that I simply couldn't get closer to them. Because what I was – or, more importantly, wasn't – couldn't be explained or reasoned away. We were too different to ever allow for actual understanding and acceptance.

Bleak as my friendship possibilities were, they were the least of my issues during the month following the accident. Most prevalent among these were those revolving solely around Edward Cullen. The trivializing attitude he'd displayed toward me upon my return to school hadn't abated. Despite sitting beside me every single day in biology, he showed no more notice of me than he did anyone else. Verbal interactions were limited to subject-matter-based topics during in-class labs. Even these were terse and uncomfortable.

Regardless of the relief my more-logical mind felt at his distance, I was miserable. I couldn't help feeling hurt by his baseless shunning. I'd upheld my end of our unspoken pact flawlessly – having never elaborated or exaggerated any aspect of his involvement in the matter. Still, he treated me as though I were a pariah. This was all a direct result of the accident we'd been in – that was the only conclusion I could come to. Emotionally masochistic, I began to suspect that his continued coolness had less to do with what we'd both witnessed and agreed not to disclose, and more to do with some deep-seeded regret he harbored about rescuing me. More than anything else, this was frustrating and painful. I couldn't understand how he felt justified in holding me responsible for his lapse in judgment. It wasn't as though he'd been somehow _required_ to intervene on my behalf.

Despite this rejection – perhaps even due to it, in part – I found myself unable to ignore him. Contrary to everything I tried, I couldn't help but become more and more interested in him. During the long weeks of enforced silence, I watched him. I understood, on some level, that my interest in him was unhealthy – for both of us. Even so, I was unable to stop myself. I'd always had a curious personality – hence the multitude of college degrees I'd collected over the years – and being presented with such an attractive and guarded mystery as he embodied was irresistible. So, as circumspectly as I could, I continued to examine his every action while doing my best to appear as aloof and disinterested as he was.

Regardless of this near-constant scrutiny, the mystery surrounding Edward and his siblings never lessened. Quite the opposite, in fact – it deepened, became more elusive. So much about the Cullens was _off_. Some things could be explained away while others could not. The peculiarities ranged from the mundane to the exotic – touching on every level in between. Part of the intractable mystery stemmed from the inherent contradiction between different aspects of the same behavior. Without anything more than substandard inspections made in fleeting, stolen moments of anonymity, I couldn't coalesce any of the data I gathered into a viable conclusion. Either the Cullens were hiding something or I had managed to inflame my imagination past all bounds of common sense. The problem was: I couldn't decide which of those two scenarios was most likely.

There were so many things – big and small – that, individually, would have gone unnoticed but, collectively, stood out as something more than coincidence. Beyond the implausible physical perfection displayed by every member of the family I had yet seen, there were other facets of their secluded existence which warranted notice.

Their utter lack of appetite seemed uninteresting when compared to the more unusual morphic color-shifting of their eyes. Many people, myself included, disliked school food. Their lackadaisical attitude toward the meager offerings could easily have been preference for home cooking. The eyes were another, inexplicable conundrum. At nearly regular intervals, their eyes would take on a warm, liquid, honey-gold color. Then, over the course of the next two weeks, that vivid fantastical hue would fade to a midnight black. I'd quickly dismissed the notion of contact lenses being the culprit of this mystery. If that were the case, their eyes would be one color when they wore the lenses and a wholly different color when they weren't. No lenses would adjust their color through the entire intervening spectrum and then miraculously revert to their original hue. Most eye colors had some minor tendency to shift slightly based on temperament and wardrobe – my own dark hazel often displayed this characteristic. However, the sweeping variety of shades between the two extremes marked the transformation as _unnatural_.

Their movement was a paradox in and of itself. From that first day after the accident, I'd taken notice of their peculiar, mechanical fidgeting. Normally, this could be assumed to be mere clumsiness – an adolescent propensity. However, the saying about assumptions held true in this case. Whenever the Cullens were in motion there was a certain overt grace to their movements. Even the males had an exceptional fluidity to their actions. The girls, particularly, always looked as though they could flawlessly flow into dance at any second without conscious thought. Perhaps their polish was a result of professional dance training – their father was, after all, a wealthy doctor. The only problem with this assessment was that it didn't quite _fit_. My own bearing had been commented upon multiple times in the past, mostly by dance instructors or partners. While I'd attributed the quality to my training, it wasn't actually the case. My elegance was bred from nearly a century of familiarity with my body, something few people ever achieved. And, like me, the Cullens seemed to simply _know_ their bodies.

All of this could have been explained away, if I had not fallen victim to tedium in biology class. Ever since the accident Edward's silence had been routine. He sat beside me every day and yet as far from me as the desk would allow. He never took notes, simply sat with one hand resting on his leg and the other on the tabletop. During one of Mr. Banner's less enthusiastic lectures, I took to watching Edward's movements from behind the veil of hair I typically kept between us. For some reason – impending mania, perhaps – I felt the urge to time his fidgets. The results were disturbing. His squirming took place at nearly perfect three minute intervals. At first, I was willing to dismiss this observation as a product of both our boredoms – mine in keeping track in the first place; his in possibly timing the movements to stay awake. Unfortunately, I realized that most people did not possess the patience to precisely time their movements. Furthermore, if he was keeping time out of boredom, he should slip up from time to time – involuntarily twitch too soon. He never did.

The last oddity took a long time for me to identify. Edward, at times, seemed almost omniscient. Considering Mr. Banner's opinion I was unquestionably certain that Edward was extremely intelligent. In addition, most teachers were _very_ predictable. I tried to excuse away my nagging suspicions by attributing him an unconventional power of observation. Perhaps, like me, he was simply good at reading body language and tone. He couldn't be telepathic.

Overall, concern and contemplation of Edward and his family took up a majority of my worrying. Even so, there were other, less worrisome topics to ponder. Mike Newton in particular. I could tell, from the start, that he was hoping for more than a basic camaraderie. This wouldn't have been an issue, were it not for the pair of four-hundred pound gorillas in the room …. Firstly, I wasn't even slightly interested. Being in a _romantic_ relationship with anyone was _way_ out of the question. I could accept family and friends. Taking a lover, however, would be cruel not only to them but also to me. Besides, a beau could learn more about me than he should … resulting, inevitably, in my exposure.

The second issue stemmed from a petite, curly-haired brunette named Jessica Stanley.

Since the first lunch I'd spent at the table, I'd noticed the longing glances she'd aimed in Mike's direction. My suspicions were confirmed when, in the second week in March, she'd cornered me after school to ask my permission on a related matter. For weeks, she and Lauren had been talking of little else besides the Sadie Hawkins' Dance scheduled for the last Saturday of the month. It was the sole Girls' Choice event of the school year and she'd wanted to make sure I wasn't planning on asking Mike.

I encouraged her to ask him.

"Are you sure? You weren't planning to ask him?" Her tone made it quite clear that she would view that act as a declaration of war.

"No, Jess. I'm not planning on attending." I smiled brightly at her, hoping to convey my honesty through expression as well as tone. Even had I been interested in attending the dance, I wouldn't have been stupid enough to ask Mike Newton. High school girls could turn vicious whenever a boy's attentions were in question. More than likely, I would have attended alone so as not to encourage any form of pursuit.

"It'll be lots of fun …." Her attempt to persuade me was half-hearted at best, not that it mattered to me.

"You have fun with Mike."

Unfortunately, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions …. In English the next morning, Jessica wasn't her usual bubbly self. Conversely, she would barely speak two words to me and thoroughly avoided meeting my eyes. Suspicion flared over the cause of my newest eschewing. All things considered, there was only one facet between us that would result in her social recoil from me – Mike Newton. The uncomfortable, deer-in-the-headlights look on his boyish face throughout the period was disheartening. I had known of his growing fascination for weeks but had not thought him far gone enough to reject Jessica's attentions on the off chance he could garner some favor from me. Never in all the time of our acquaintance had I encouraged his pursuit – quite the opposite, in fact. However, if he'd turned her down in the hopes I was waiting in the wings, the burgeoning friendships I'd begun cultivating here would be in jeopardy.

This nagging worry nestled in the pit of my stomach was only added to during lunch. Jessica's usual seat was positioned, conveniently, directly between me and Mike. Today, however, she took a seat on the opposite side of the table next to Eric and Lauren. Apparently committed to demonstrating her allure, she engaged Eric in deep conversation; using her full repertoire of flirtatious body language to illustrate exactly what it was Mike was missing out on. Her intended audience sat glumly next to me, looking as though he wished he were anywhere other than where he was. Throughout the entire hour-long lunch period, Jessica never once spoke to either of us.

Over the last few weeks of stony silence between me and my lab partner, Mike had taken to perching on the edge of my table before biology started. In the beginning, I could tell that he'd been worried I would be impressed by Edward's daring parking-lot rescue. However, the obvious coolness that had settled between us seemed to please Mike. Per habit, Mike rarely took his seat before the tardy bell rang. Preferring, instead, to chat animatedly with me over whatever trivial matter was occupying his attentions; ignoring my lab partner as thoroughly as he ignored us.

My expectations of this afternoon's discussion were different. His uneasy silence during lunch confirmed that he was bracing himself to say something unpleasant. Without cue, I was certain the subject would revolve around the ominous end-of-month dance. I'd taken my seat and begun unloading my books before he broached the subject.

"So …," his pitch was higher than normal – a sure sign of stress, "Jessica asked me to the Spring Dance …."

"Really? That's great. I'm sure you'll have a good time with her." I didn't have to work to make my tone sound pleased and encouraging. In all honesty, I wanted nothing more than for this boy's fixation to shift to the anticipatory Jessica Stanley.

Awkward silence followed my statement and I looked up from my bag to examine his expression. Grim – that was an accurate description. Evidently, my enthusiasm was being viewed as problematic.

"Well … I told her I'd have to think about it."

Ah, so I'd been right. He was holding out for me. Deep down, I was grateful that he hadn't given a flat-out refusal – it would be impossible to scavenge the remnants of blossoming friendship under those conditions. Unfortunately, the dominant emotion I experienced was chagrin. It was unfathomable to me that this boy seemed oblivious to my disinterest. Congeniality was not the same thing as attraction.

I let disapproval color my voice as I raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, "Think about what? What is there to think about?"

Color flooded his cherubic cheeks and his shoulders slouched slightly, "Well, I was kind of wondering if _you_ were planning to ask me."

Without conscious command, my teeth claimed my lower lip and worried the sensitive flesh between them. I had to be careful here. This boy's ill-guided pursuit didn't justify infliction of pain through the revelation of blunt truthfulness. However, I had to make certain to discourage his questing.

"Look, Mike," I tried to keep my voice neutral, "I think you ought to go with Jessica."

Defiance flashed in his blue eyes as he met mine, "Why? Have you already asked someone else?" His tone turned belligerent as his gaze shifted over my shoulders to stab at Edward's back.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a shift in Edward's position – his head was angled more clearly in our direction, as though he were casually listening to the discussion. Had he noticed Mike's unsheltered glare?

"No." I made my tone flat and irrefutable, "I'm not attending the dance."

"Why not?" His tone turned petulant.

Where, oh where was the teacher when I needed him? If only he would magically _poof_ to the front of the classroom and begin the lecture, I could get out from under this uncomfortable situation without needing to supply an excuse. I didn't think explaining my _actual_ reasoning for not attending the dance was a good idea. Therefore, I quickly scanned through my head, seeking a round-about method of avoiding the truth.

"I'm going to be in Seattle that weekend." Before that moment, I had had no intention of taking a trip. Now, however, it seemed like a perfect time to take my car for a drive and disappear from sight for a few days. I could take care of some of the business I'd been forced to neglect while in Forks.

"Seattle? Can't you go on some other weekend?" Pleading didn't lend itself very well to him.

I shot down the spasm of guilt that tried to force itself out of my gut and shook my head, letting my face take on a resolved cast, "Unfortunately, no. I have some stuff to take care of …." I let my voice trail off as though I would rather not discuss said business with anyone.

"It can't wait for another weekend? This is the only dance besides Prom this semester."

"Yeah, I know that. I simply can't put this off any longer. I've needed to handle it since the accident …." Pain tinged the edges of my tone. Part of it was even genuine. I didn't like using Alex and Steph's deaths as an excuse to get out of attending a social event. It felt like a betrayal. Moreover, there were, in fact, aspects of their affairs to which I needed to attend.

"The …? Oh." He looked away uncomfortably.

"Yes, well …," I straightened my back, "Like I said, you'll have fun with Jessica. You shouldn't keep her waiting any longer, though. It's quite rude."

"Yeah, I guess." He slouched off back to his own table without meeting my eyes.

For the briefest of seconds, my inner Good Samaritan tried to trump my practical side. Causing _anyone_ pain, whether emotional or physical, was something I'd never grown accustomed to. Having experienced more than my fair share of both, I preferred leaving that task to other instigators. Fighting down the urge to apologize to Mike for letting him down, I buried my face in my hands and took a few deep breaths. This was the right thing to do – the proper avenue to travel. Feeling guilty wouldn't change that.

Mr. Banner began the lecture at that instant and I raised my head from my hands. In more than six weeks, I'd grow accustomed to being treated as though I were part of the furniture – or worse, the permanent construction. Familiarity hadn't bred contentment but rather acceptance – there was little I could do about being overlooked and trivialized. Surprisingly, when I at last opened my eyes, I found Edward Cullen staring at me – his eyes tending toward the onyx end of the varying spectrum today.

I blinked, half expecting this to be some figment of my imagination – a cruel form of revenge for having denied Mike's advances. Staggeringly, this did nothing. Edward's eyes stayed locked on mine. As I stared into the abyssal depths, trying to understand the vaguely curious expression playing out on the idyllic features surrounding them, I lost track of reality. My world condensed sharply to focus on only two things; the minutest of necessary functions within my own physical form and the intensity smoldering in the eyes of the most perplexing Prince Charming ever to have been imagined into existence.

Sound, touch, taste, and smell faded from being; the remaining void filling instead with the suddenly swelling awareness of sight and unfocused thought. For all I knew, the entire school could have burst into flames, their destructive fingers ravaging my skin, and I wouldn't have noticed. Nothing else existed save for Edward's eyes. There was no question of my looking away first. The ability to do so had been eradicated along with the rest of my cognitive processes.

When at last his eyes released me, all the faculties I'd misplaced came flooding back.

"The Krebb Cycle." His voice, soft and disinterested, answered a question which I had not even heard.

Free of the overwhelming strength of his gaze, I forced mine down to the small printed words on the page in front of me. My heart was beating erratically and I found I was having difficulty in pulling in a full breath. Once able to feel something besides wonder and confusion, I became irritated with myself. There had been no reason in the world for me to have allowed myself to respond to him that way. Just because he'd looked at me for the first time in over a month didn't give me license to abandon decorum and control.

Not sure what to make of the occurrence, I decided to try to ignore it. I was quite used to pretending like I _wasn't_ aware of every shift of his body, every breath he took ….

_That's quite enough!_ I worked diligently at taking notes and acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

When Mr. Banner finally dismissed us – five minutes before the bell – I turned my back to Edward as I gathered my books together. My irritation hadn't subsided over the course of the class. It had simmered, thickened. Mike's assumptions had been the starting point of the emotional rollercoaster I now found myself riding. Without them, I wouldn't have been so vulnerable to Edward's disarming gaze. Even so, those childish speculations weren't the most relevant of my annoyances. My own persistent obsession with this disinterested stranger next to me ranked higher on the list. Why was it that I couldn't simply get over this fascination I felt toward him?

"Lily?" I'd expected him to have already left. However, the soft, low voice coming from directly behind me belayed that assumption.

Weary of speaking to him, I tensed at the sound. I was worried that maybe he'd noticed all the sidelong looks and probing examinations I'd been trying to conceal over the last month of exile. What would he think of the continued speculation? Would he be annoyed? More importantly, I didn't want to feel what I _knew_ I would feel when I looked at him.

Resignedly – I didn't have it in me to ignore him – I turned to look at him, weariness cast heavily on my features.

He was standing there looking at me. There was a faintly unsatisfied look to his demeanor yet he said nothing.

"Deigning to speak to me again, are we?" My guard immediately went up and I lashed out at him cuttingly. I didn't feel rude doing this since it was he who had decided to treat me as though I didn't exist.

The left side of his mouth twitched up to hint at the crooked smile I'd seen only twice, "No. Not really." He didn't elaborate.

Taking a steadying breath and closing my eyes seemed like the prudent thing to do. I felt the urge to reach out and … I wasn't sure. Strangle him? Kiss him? Either reaction would be inadvisable.

"Then what is it you want, Edward?" I left my eyes closed. It was easier to maintain control if I wasn't distracted by his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm being very rude – I know. But it's for the best." His tone was serious and the apology was genuine, "It really is better if we're not friends, trust me."

My eyes flashed open to narrow slits. The declaration of intended protection, when, in fact, his actions had inflicted nothing but pain and annoyance, pushed my irritation to a whole new level. I'd never much appreciated being told what to do and being told that something was best for me wasn't all that different. Moreover, I had the distinct impression that he regretted having acted to save me from being pulverized by Tyler's van.

"Perhaps you should have considered that _before_ you'd weighed yourself down with all this regret."

"Regret? For what?" My words had obviously shocked him.

My temper had reached a point from which I couldn't simply restrain myself from commenting on my suspicions, "For not simply allowing that van to crush me."

Until that point, Edward had been civil, polite, if not somewhat reserved. However, my anger-driven accusation seemed to have touched a nerve, making him lash back at me. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"What else could I think? One day you're perfectly polite and the next you treat me as though I've developed some communicable disease!"

"You don't know _anything_." His tone was cold, angry. The look on his face might have frightened me, if I'd had enough sense to feel fear.

I snapped. It was glaringly clear that he was lugging around some heavy guilt related to the accident and I didn't appreciate being told that I was stupid because I could see it sitting on his shoulders, "Well, then I shan't impose my ignorant presence on you any longer!" I kept my volume even, indignantly polite.

Snatching my books into my arms, I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed directly for the door, intent on making a stormy exit. However, with the Forks weather being what it was, I needed to at least retrieve my jacket before leaving. As I passed, I reached over with my free hand to yank the black biohazard suit from its hook on the wall. Unfortunately, in my ire, I pulled too hard. The jacket caught on the hook and threw me off balance. Two books tumbled to the ground before I could steady myself.

Even angrier now, I was tempted to leave the damned things lying in the doorway and continue on my righteous procession. Conversely, I didn't much feel like paying for the ruined tomes. Therefore, resigned to a ruined exit, I bent to retrieve them only to find Edward kneeling at my feet, my books in his hands.

Without verbal comment – though his expression said _more_ than enough – he passed the stacked volumes to me.

I was angry but being polite was more important – at least I could be the adult and show that I could be civilized. "Thank you," the words came out a bit curt.

His face hardened and the anger returned to his dark eyes, "You're welcome."

Gym was nightmarish. Coach Clapp had moved us onto the basketball phase of the curriculum. I had enough trouble with distance-relation in driving let alone in sports where I was required to pass a barely-fitting object through a far-away opening. Add a vertical component to the equation and I was lost. Considering my performance during the volleyball weeks, many of the students didn't bother including me in the pass lineup. Instead, I was relegated to defense. That wouldn't have been a problem, if my mind hadn't been thoroughly occupied with Edward Cullen. Normally, multitasking wasn't an issue for me. Today, however, I couldn't seem to get him out of my head. Every time I tried to block a pass or a shot, his words and face flooded my senses, effectively nullifying my defensive attempts.

When at last the bell rang, I rushed through redressing and headed directly for my car, hoping desperately to avoid any possible contact with Edward. This morning, I'd taken advantage of a spot closer to the buildings … two slots away from the pristine metallic Volvo belonging to the Cullens. If I was lucky, which didn't seem to be the case today, I could be in my car and on my way home before he made an appearance.

My heart jumped firmly into my throat when I rounded the corner to see a dark shape leaning casually against the driver's side of my car. It took a few seconds before I realized that the form wasn't quite tall or muscular enough to be Edward. In fact, it was ganglier … more awkward. Eric Yorkie.

Relief spilling into my voice, I greeted him, "Hey, Eric!"

"Hey." Something about his voice was different. Being out of visual range, I had no clue as to what it meant.

"What's up?" I flashed him a brief, friendly smile but focused on opening my car door and propelling my bag over the gear shift and safely into the passenger's seat.

"Uh …," Nervousness, that was the unusual quality, "I was just wondering if you would … go to the Spring Dance … with me …?" His voice – already higher pitched than most of the boys his age – broke on the last word.

Dumbfounded, I turned to look at him, "The dance?" I just didn't get it. Why was it that I was so sought after as a dancing partner? I couldn't remember having mentioned an affinity for it …. "Isn't it a girl's choice dance?" My confusion didn't lend itself well to diplomacy. Only after the words were out did I realize that it sounded harsh and critical.

"Well, yeah …." He looked mortified. He'd had a hard enough time working up the courage to ask me _without_ adding my own frankness issues to the mix.

Guilt and sympathy washed over me, making me feel as though I were solely responsible for this boy's embarrassment. I softened my tone and tried to sound commiserative, "Thank you for asking me, Eric, but I'm going to be out of town that weekend." Thank goodness for last-minute plans. Without them, I might have said yes simply to alleviate the guilt I felt at turning him down.

"Oh, okay. Maybe some other time."

"Uh-huh." I grimaced as I realized that the comment I'd meant to be non-committal could be misconstrued as encouragement to ask another time.

Luckily, he didn't seem to have heard. He slouched off back toward the school without looking at me again.

I closed my eyes and sighed. This day couldn't get any worse.

In that instant, I heard a low chuckle. The laugh was immediately recognizable and my eyes flashed wide searching for him. Edward Cullen was passing in front of my car, his lips pressed together, fighting a smile.

I glared at his departing form before practically flinging myself into the driver's seat of my car. I turned the engine over and reversed into the aisle as quickly as I could. I wanted out of the parking lot _before_ any other boys could catch me.

Edward Cullen's single goal in life must have been to cause me as much grief as humanly possible. Before I could accelerate out of the lot, he backed the sleekly polished car out in front of me and waited. His family was nowhere near the lot, I could see them slowly rounding the administration building. It was clear he was acting simply to deprive me of the option of leaving. I glanced into my rearview mirror, intent on reversing through the aisle until I could access another row, only to see Tyler's newly-acquired Sentra idling behind me and several other cars lined up further back.

Grumbling to myself, I pointedly began fiddling with the dials on the radio, trying to find a station worth listening to. No matter how hard he tried I wasn't going to give him the benefit of knowing that I was irritated. For a fleeting moment, I considered taking out the rear end of his fancy car. However, reason returned and argued that there were too many witnesses.

While turning the scanner knob through the myriad of available frequencies, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. The noise startled me and I looked up to see Tyler Crowley waving at me. Confused, I sat up and glanced in my rearview mirror. His Sentra was still behind me, engine running, and driver's side door open. Utterly baffled, I leaned over and used the stiff crank to roll the window down halfway.

"Hey, Tyler. I'm sorry but I'm stuck behind _Cullen_." I let venom ooze over the last word as I flicked a helpless gesture toward the offending blockage.

"Oh, I know. I just wanted to ask you something, while we're stuck here."

My breath caught and I'm sure the look on my face had frozen into shocked disbelief. It was obvious that this was going to be more of the same thing I'd experienced already.

"Will you ask me to the Spring Dance?" His demeanor was full of cocky self-assurance, not a trace of uncertainty to be seen.

I had to remind myself that it wasn't Tyler's fault that my patience for this topic had already been _more_ than exhausted. "I'm sorry, Tyler, but I won't be attending. I'm going to be in Seattle that weekend." My tone was slightly harsher than I'd meant it to be but I couldn't help it.

"Yeah, Mike mentioned that." He shrugged.

Mystified, I raised my eyebrows, "Then why …?" If he'd already known I wasn't available, what was the purpose of subjecting himself to rejection?

"I was just hoping you were letting him down easy." He flashed what _might _have been considered a devil-may-care smile at me.

He'd managed to push the wrong button. His implication that I could be callous enough to lie to Mike – and Eric – about my plans was unwarranted. I conveniently ignored the fact that I hadn't scheduled the trip prior to their invitations. "No. I actually _am_ going to be out of town. I wouldn't lie about that." Acrid verbal poison dripped from the sharp edges of the words as I spoke. My expired patience was _entirely_ his fault, now.

Somehow, my tone and implication didn't seem to dim his persistence. Instead, he simply smiled, "That's all right. We've got prom."

As he walked away, I stared dumbstruck at his back. Had I not made it _perfectly_ clear that I wasn't interested? What in the _Hell_ could have made him think I would consider going to the _Prom_ with him?

The instant that I realized he was gone, I frantically dove over and rolled up the passenger window. There was no telling when another would-be suitor would descend to befuddle and misunderstand me. Securely ensconced in my now-locked vehicle, I glanced forward at the still parked irritation purposefully blocking my route to freedom. Edward's eyes were locked on my reflection in his rearview mirror and he was unmistakably shaking with laughter.

Furious, I put the T-Bird in gear and revved the panther-like engine to a snarl, lurching forward a few inches in threat. His siblings were folding themselves sinuously into the car and I grinned mischievously. One tiny bump wouldn't hurt any of them … just damage that glossy paint job. Besides, my car already had one dent. What was one more?

Just as I began to edge forward again, the glimmering hindrance sped away. Dissatisfied, I drove home more carefully than I normally would have.

When I walked in the door, I realized that I still needed a distraction. My temper was simmering at the edge of my mental control and having nothing to do would only cause it to boil over. For two weeks I'd been promising Julia that I would make bouillabaisse – something she'd heard Alex rave over for three years. The preparation process was long and involved, requiring abundant attention to detail and time. Today seemed like the perfect time to fulfill this obligation.

I was halfway through filleting the fish when the phone rang. Instantly, I became cautious. Considering the persistent pursuit I'd borne throughout the afternoon, I was convinced the caller would be another member of my class asking me to accompany them to the upcoming dance. I'd mostly decided not to answer before the second ring. However, after a brief examination, I realized that I hadn't given my phone number out to any males. It was unlikely that they would go through the trouble of looking up Julia's number in the phonebook. They would, probably, just wait to pounce at school tomorrow ….

I picked up after the third ring. It was Jessica and she was jubilant. Mike had caught up with her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated briefly with her as I spiced the rue, listening to her fantasize about the event and discuss who was taking who. I listened with greater attention to the attendance list. When Jess mentioned that Lauren and Angela were going alone, I used the opportunity to provide distractions to my other two unwanted pursuers – the best defense was a good offense, right? In a very offhanded manner I suggested that Angela could ask Eric and that Lauren – whom I still didn't seem to get along with – could ask Tyler. I avoided mentioning _how_ I knew that they were available and, luckily, Jessica wasn't interested enough to ask. She thought my suggestion was a great idea and actually sounded sincere when she told me she wished I would attend. I offered up my Seattle excuse. We hung up after a few more sentences so that she could call the aforementioned Lauren and Angela to tell them the good news.

Once prep was completed and the stew was simmering on the stove, I buried myself in the mindless task of high school homework. Regrettably, there weren't enough math problems or reading pages to keep me occupied long. Shortly before six I ran out of humdrum activities in which to engage. Fortuitously, Julia arrived home before half-after. She thoroughly appreciated the food. She'd never had the dish before but, having been raised in a coastal community, harbored an inherited love for seafood.

When I finally retired to bed, my dreams were filled with images of Edward.

* * *

><p>The maze through which I wandered was dark and foreboding. I was searching for something; something that was forever out of reach. The first time I saw him, standing at the end of a corridor down which I had turned, I felt relief, understanding on some level that <em>he<em> was what I'd been seeking. I'd moved toward him, desiring the security I felt in his presence. At the first step, however, he turned away from me and disappeared around the corner. Not wanting to be abandoned to the unknown, I raced after him.

As I ran, spurred on by the fear of being alone, I heard his voice echo back to me, "We really shouldn't be friends."

"Why not?" I'd shouted at the emptiness around me.

"Trust me," the voice had whispered hauntingly.

For what seemed like hours, I ran pell-mell through the maze shrieking my question until my throat was hoarse with strain. But he never said anything more; only repeated the eerie appeal for trust. When, at last, I'd grown so lost and upset that I could go no further, my fear turned to anger. "Fine! Leave me alone, then," I'd rasped into the darkness.

Turning the next corner I came face to face with Edward – only he was different. When first I'd seen him at the end of the hallway, his eyes had been the reflective topaz I'd come to admire. Now, they were as black as the first time I'd seen him in life – abyssal pools of hunger and hate.

"Go away!" I turned away from him, trying to find another way out of the maze.

From that point on, the dark-eyed version of Edward stalked my progress through the maze. I never knew when he would appear but he was always ahead of me, blocking my path. Each time he was closer than the last until, eventually, he could have touched me with an outstretched hand.

In some corner of my mind I _knew_ I would die if he ever did so. His touch was something I'd only experienced once. Since that contact, I'd occasionally found myself imagining what it would feel like to do more than merely brush against his skin; what it would be like to actually touch, caress. I'd put an immediate stop to those thoughts whenever they'd arisen. Now, however, the tentative desire had turned to terror.

Dim light lured me to a right-hand turn and there he was again. Before I could turn, I realized that he wasn't the same, dark Edward who had stalked me during my desperate flight for freedom. He was back to being the golden-eyed, perfect Edward I'd imagined into my Snow White fantasy. Instead of retreating from me again he simply stood there, close enough to touch and yet too distant to reach. My hand came up involuntarily and the angelic visage of him took a tentative step away and turned from me.

"Edward …," pain echoed hollowly in the hoarse reverberation of my voice.

He paused and turned his glorious face back to me, his eyes meeting mine.

"Don't go," I pleaded, my hand continuing up, beckoning him back to me.

Slowly, hesitantly, he rotated to face me again uncertainty in his eyes.

I curled my fingers invitingly, wanting nothing more in that instant than for him to take my hand.

Suddenly, determination flooded his expression and his hand slowly rose to meet mine.

I woke before our fingers could touch ….

* * *

><p>Suffice to say, I achieved only a few hours of sleep. By early morning, I had decided that the male mind was completely unfathomable. Not a single one of the boys I'd encountered acted in any rational way. In fact, they seemed to be utterly devoid of logical reason. Compounded by this realization was my dilemma over Edward Cullen. My fascination with him was getting <em>extremely<em> out of hand – even managing to leak into my dreams. Having woken before dawn, I had lain in bed thinking, examining the events of the previous day.

Foremost on my mind was the obliviously insistent way boys in this town chased after me. I knew that I'd experienced this problem at other schools – there were always some boys who saw my tragic past as some sort of endearing damsel in distress call for assistance. Growing up, I had never considered myself attractive. Other than the male cousins I'd been raised with, I rarely encountered boys my own age except in the stiflingly strict environment of a Catholic church. By the time I had begun taking an interest in my appearance, tragedy had struck with Ames. I spent the next eight months convinced that I was some sort of unholy abomination. Little did I know, at the time, that I would soon encounter _real_ monsters. Ones that would forever change my life ….

I shook my head to clear it of those thoughts. Dwelling on my past yielded nothing more than pain and heartache. It was more productive to focus on the here and now. Over the years, I had come to the understanding that my pale skin, dark hair and eyes, and the manner with which I carried myself were appealing to members of the opposite sex. I didn't see it – perhaps because I saw my face in the mirror every day and was forever reminded of the events from which its monotony had been wrought.

In LA, I'd worn makeup and done my hair every morning. Necessity had spawned the primping. Females in Santa Cruz – for the most part – didn't leave the house without their hair and makeup photo-ready. Overall, I didn't need the cosmetics and my hair had always possessed a certain _romance_ to its body and curl. I'd engaged in the fluffing because it was socially expected. When in Rome and such.

Here, I didn't bother. The constant humidity would nullify any attempts to tame my mane and waterproof aesthetics would stand only the smallest of chances when confronted by the ever-present rain.

As such, I couldn't see what it was that the male population found intriguing. With aggravation, I realized that my opinion was not the one that mattered. I could view myself as a mutated hydra-like creature and it would make no difference so long as others didn't agree.

Having nothing further to add to the topic, I moved on … to Edward Cullen. Now that I wasn't in danger of falling on my face or being involved in an accident, I was free to examine his comments from the end of biology class. His parting words still stung but I could move past the snub to focus on what had caused them.

What had he meant that it would be better if we weren't friends? How could friendship jeopardize anything?

With mortification, I realized his probable meaning. He was exceedingly observant. He had likely noticed the sidelong inspections and distant scrutiny I'd performed over the past month. The overly obsessive nature of my interest in him had to be obvious. That must be the reason. He wasn't remotely interested in me – not that he should have been. Edward _knew_ that there was something wrong with me. Unlike every other person in my life besides Ames and … _Them_ … Edward had borne witness to a physical manifestation of my _strangeness_. As such, he wasn't remotely interested in me. He didn't want to encourage my fascination because he was frightened of me ….

Tears stung at the inner corners of my eyes as I faced this rejection. Of _course_ he was frightened of me. Anyone in their right mind would be. Only a fool danced with a snake ….

I rose and gathered my toiletries for a shower. That was fine. I could ignore him – I _would_. He was just like any other boy I'd encountered over the years. Habit and need dictated that I remain untouchable. I would simply trust to instinct. My survival had trumped all previous desires – hence my continued existence.

Successful in my search, I went to the bathroom and turned on the water, absorbed with washing away my worries in the steamy cascade. I didn't make it that far. The tears were long gone now; their sting forgotten in the imagined ring of warning bells in my head. Was there more to Edward's statement than I'd first understood? Had he been cautioning me? Had the rejection been a cover for something more – a way to avoid disaster?

I skimmed the stream of thoughts bouncing around my consciousness. Maybe he had been telling me that we shouldn't be friends _because_ he was so observant. That friendship – no matter how limited – would provide him the opportunity to delve out my secrets? He had secrets of his own – I'd unwillingly been privy to one. And, in that brief introduction, I'd become enamored with his mystery – far more than I'd been before. Perhaps he, too, was worried over what our friendship could reveal ….

Possibly he was right. If discovery were on the line, it _would_ be better for us to refrain from a closer relationship. Then again … with both of us having something to lose, would it not also provide some alleviation to the strain of constantly hiding something? Even if one of us solved the other's riddle, would not the inherent knowledge of our own _issues_ prevent us from exposing the other? It would be so for me. Never in all the years of my life would I consider divulging the secrets of another – specifically those that spoke of similarity to my own.

Further speculation was pointless. The option had been taken off the table by the other party involved. Making a contrary decision would only end in disappointment. Edward had made up his mind. Time for me to follow suit.

* * *

><p>I drove into school a few minutes earlier than normal. Julia was working the afternoon shift today so I had no one to distract me from my … <em>musings<em>. Having made the commitment to travel into Seattle on the last weekend of the month, I figured it would be prudent to see if I could arrange a meeting with my lawyer – well, Alex and Steph's lawyer, anyway. His business partner had offices in Seattle so he might be able to meet me in person. If not, I could handle a teleconference.

I parked and retrieved my phone from the front pocket of my bag. Using the undersized keyboard, I typed out a quick email to him before exiting the cab. Ever the perfectionist, I proofread the missive before confirming the dispatch, absently using my free hand to slam the car door shut behind me.

When I looked up from the luminescent screen I was face to face with Edward Cullen. His presence startled me and I jumped involuntarily. _Had he seen anything?_

"How do you _do_ that?" Picking right up with the injured indignation I'd earned at the end of our last conversation, I scowled at him.

"Do what?" His tone was lighter today, almost playful.

I shoved my phone into a back pocket and mumbled an answer, "Oh, I don't know. Magically appear out of thin air, perhaps."

"Lily, is it my fault that you are exceptionally unobservant?" His tone turned teasing which didn't help to endear him to me.

"Well, you seem quite adept at identifying my misgivings. One wonders why you continue to seek my company." If this was how he meant to converse with me, I had no intention of sticking around for it. Maneuvering around him, I set a fast pace to English.

"Lily, Wait."

I didn't stop but his longer legs carried him to my side with ease.

"I'm sorry, that was rude." His voice wasn't nearly contrite enough, "I'm not saying that it isn't true … just that it was rude to say."

The indication that his rudeness was only in highlighting my irrationality rather than imagining its existence caused me to jab back at him, "Why are you so _persistent_? Why can't you simply leave me be?"

He smirked but otherwise ignored my ribbing, "I wanted to ask you something but you distracted me."

"If I'm so distracting, it's a wonder you managed to ignore me for as long as you have. How _did_ you do it?" I wasn't really expecting an answer, though I would have been grateful for one. His uncalled-for snubbing had been unduly hurtful.

"You're doing it again," humor colored the edges of his tone, making it obvious that he was fighting a smirk.

_Ugh._ "Very well. What is it that you wanted to ask me?" I kept walking but reduced my speed so as to make myself seem less harried.

"Well, I was wondering if a week from Saturday – you know, the day of the Spring Dance …."

I whirled to face him, stopping dead in my tracks and glaring up into his face, "Are you _trying_ to be funny?" _What was it with boys in this town and _dances?

Unperturbed, he tightened his expression into a polite mask of anticipation – the faint hint of a crooked smile playing around the corners of his lips, "Will you please allow me to finish?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. In the interest of safety, I placed my hands behind my back in a parade-rest stance and locked my fingers together to keep me from being rash. I had no _idea_ where this was heading. If he asked me to the dance, _what _was I going to say? I _should_ say no, but I wasn't sure I _could_. My obsession would jump at the chance to be alone with him – to have his undivided attention and the ability to examine him as closely as I wished without needing to hide it.

Instead of proceeding along the expected path of conversation, Edward detoured. "Well, I heard you mention that you were going to Seattle that weekend and I was wondering if you would like a ride."

The query was completely unexpected and, at first, I was certain that I hadn't heard what I thought I had, "Pardon?"

"I was wondering if you would like a ride to Seattle." He slowed his speech down as though I needed time to better process the words.

My guard immediately went up. Why would he want to drive to Seattle with _me_? What could he _hope_ to gain from spending that much time alone with me?

"Wait … You want to go on a road trip … with _me_?" I wanted to be certain I understood him correctly before I began questioning his motives.

"Well, not precisely." He waved his hand in a 'clearing' motion, "I was actually planning on going to Seattle myself in the next few weeks and it would be more economical for us to carpool." He paused, "Besides, I'm not certain your car is up for the trip."

"_My_ car runs just fine, thank you very much for your concern," Emphasis on the possessive. The T-Bird was Julia's via Alex. The Porsche was technically _my_ car.

I started walking again, trying to ferret out his intentions. I was utterly confused. What in the _world_ was he doing? Hadn't he said that he didn't _want_ to be friends? Why the sudden change of heart?

"Well, either way, it would still be more prudent to carpool," He caught up to me with no apparent effort.

"Honestly, Edward," I felt a thrill of excitement surge through me when I said his name aloud; "I'm starting to get whiplash. Didn't you just say that you didn't _want_ to be friends?" I stopped under the overhanging eaves of the cafeteria building, the shelter allowing me to lift my gaze to his face without being assaulted by falling raindrops.

I was horribly temped to accept this boy's invitation – if for no other reason than to discover his motives. But decades of well-warranted weariness urged me to be careful. Curiosity had killed the cat, after all.

"No. I said that it would be better if we _weren't_ friends – not that I didn't want to be."

My irritation piqued again, "Oh, I see – my mistake. I was under the impression that we were engaging in a rational conversation." My hands slipped from behind my back and came to rest on my hips. If my foot had been tapping, I would have been the perfect caricature of impatient irritation.

"It would be … more prudent for you not to be my friend," He seemed to be struggling with his words, as though he wanted to accurately explain something, "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Lily."

My mind had suddenly gone very fuzzy. His warning had triggered some form of defensive instinct inside my head. What I had _meant_ to say was that I didn't think that the joint trip was a good idea. However, his eyes, locked on mine, had made the thought rather slippery. I could hear my own breathing accelerate, my heart rate following suit. What did he mean by that last part?

When I didn't answer, he pressed his advantage, "Will you go with me to Seattle?"

I nodded – couldn't help it. It seemed as though my body had a will of its own – one completely autonomous from that imposed by my mind.

The smile that broke over his face was akin to that of a bridegroom receiving his intended's proposal acceptance. Then, as quickly as the smile had appeared, it was gone, having been replaced by a look of sly playfulness, "You really should stay away from me." He leaned in slightly and – for a fleeting second – I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he turned away and began crossing the lawn toward a distant classroom. "See you in class," He called over his shoulder.

Stunned. That was the word I was looking for. I was stunned. I stood dumbfounded under the shelter of the cafeteria roof until the warning bell rang.

When I finally made it into English – after the clanging of the tardy bell had faded – Mr. Mason ignored me. He was reading some excerpt from Foust and wasn't willing to let my lateness interrupt his stride. I fell into my seat, still discombobulated.

Looking around, I saw the expressions on the faces of my friends around me. Jessica was gawking open-mouthed at me, as though she were seeing me for the first time. Eric had a look of resigned admiration on his face while Mike's expression could adequately be described as disbelief. I blushed in embarrassment and quickly set to taking notes.


	5. Chapter 5: Blood Typing

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_** - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_** or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

In this chapter we get Lily's first lunchtime with Edward as well as the Blood Typing incident. I'd love to hear back about what theories you have about Lily's _otherness _and anything else you'd like to speculate about! It's always great to know people are interested enough to think about the story as they read it!

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong>

The rest of the morning flew by in a blur. I was fairly certain that there had been some form of test in one of my classes, but I couldn't tell you which one it had been, or even the subject matter that had been covered. Instead, the conscious part of my mind had been mulling over the conversation I'd had with Edward. The longer I pondered it, the more convinced I became that the entire incident had been a figment of my imagination – a waking dream of some sort. That non-explanation was more realistic than one in which I had appealed to him on some level. After all, Edward _knew_ I was different. His ignorant bystander role had been thrown out the proverbial window the morning of the accident.

Despite my convictions, I couldn't help scouring the lonely Cullen table as soon as Jessica, Mike, and I entered the cafeteria. What I saw – or rather, didn't – worked to strengthen my hallucination theory. Edward's siblings were seated in their usual spots around the table neither talking nor eating. Conspicuously absent was Edward himself.

Perpetually an emotional masochist, I assumed that his absence was again my fault. There were two possible scenarios my mind jumped to. Either Edward had been so upset after our conversation yesterday that his parking-lot revenge scheme hadn't been enough to alleviate his anger. As such, he had skipped school today in order to give himself time to calm down. This particular conclusion fit perfectly with the already-brewing delusion theory I had working. Or, Edward had changed his mind after talking with me this morning and gone home to avoid me.

Disheartened at the prospect of solely occupying my biology table for the hour-long lecture, I slouched disinterested through the line behind Jessica and Mike.

"Lily, are you coming?" Jessica's voice broke through my reverie. She was standing on the opposite side of the cashier starring at me.

"Yeah." I swiped my student id through the reader and moved to join them.

"What are you getting?" Mike asked.

"Um … just a soda, I think." I reached into the display case and selected a lemonade bottle.

"Aren't you hungry?" Jessica's tone was a bit wheedling.

"Not really."

"Are you feeling all right?" Mike's inquiry was a little on the possessive side.

"Yeah, just a little tired. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night." I shrugged off his concern and shuffled dejectedly after them.

We were walking through the hot-food line when Jessica spoke again, "Edward Cullen is staring at you again. I wonder why he's sitting alone today …."

His name was enough to snap me back into the present. My eyes immediately set to scanning the tables throughout the cafeteria. It didn't take long to find him – I'm sure I could have identified him from over a hundred yards …. He was seated alone, just as Jessica had said, at a smaller table near the center of the cafeteria.

As soon as our eyes met, he smirked invitingly, raised his right hand and crooked his index finger at me.

I felt my mouth set in a straight line. I didn't much appreciate the gesture – as though I were at his beck-and-call. Regardless, I couldn't help feeling relieved at seeing him. His presence wiped away the pessimistic masochism, leaving only a hesitant optimism in its place.

"Does he mean _you_?" Jessica's tone was insulting. It was clear she couldn't understand what any boy would see in me over her.

Not wanting to start a fight with her, I made a lame excuse before heading toward him, "He probably just needs help with biology. I'd better go see what he wants." Without waiting to see or hear her response, I weaved through the students to his table.

When I finally reached it, I was nervously spinning the bottle of lemonade I held between the palms of my hands. Uncertain, I stood behind the chair opposite him and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" He motioned innocently toward the chair in front of me.

Yet again my body acted of its own accord, taking the proffered seat before I could consciously think through the repercussions.

For what seemed like minutes, Edward and I sat in awkward silence. I couldn't help wondering why his attitude had taken this abrupt shift. Nothing of note had happened since biology yesterday that would have precipitated the alteration. Unable to mask my curiosity, I hedged into the topic.

"This is certainly a change …."

"Well …" he hesitated as though thinking through some important revelation, "I decided that, since I'm going to Hell, I might as well do it thoroughly." His tone was matter-of-fact and yet teasing at the same time.

Piqued at his implication that talking to me was so reprehensible, I stiffened, "Ah, so I've graduated from a mere distraction to a full-blown sin?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." His playful expression hardened to show irritation.

"Oh, do I? You'll have to enlighten me. I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." I set my bottle down on the table in front of me and clasped my hands together.

Smirking again, his gaze shifted over my shoulder, "I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you."

"I doubt that." I was lying. I could almost _feel_ their eyes on the back of my head. In fact, I could almost _see_ the expressions of incredulity on the faces of my male comrades.

"I may not give you back, though." There was the faintest trace of actual warning in his tone.

I squared my jaw and purposefully ignored the clanging in the back of my mind, "Oh?"

His ochre eyes scanned my face, "You look worried."

Apparently my attempt at nonchalance hadn't been successful. "Not particularly," only the tiniest hint of the lie in my voice. No matter my conscious effort, I couldn't fully ignore the warning bells I was hearing, "I'd venture more toward curious, personally. After all, you still haven't explained why the sudden change of heart."

"I told you, I got tired of trying to stay away from you." He leaned toward me, "So I'm giving up."

I raised a questioning eyebrow at him and used my left hand to make a motion asking for elaboration, "On what, precisely?"

"On trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now and let the chips fall where they may," He shrugged.

"You know, your vague comments are neither explanatory nor particularly appreciated." I sat up straight and squared my shoulders. If he was going to continue along this line, then there was no need for me to stick around for the neglect.

Moreover, his outwardly selfish persona struck me as off-kilter. After all, if he was actually that self-interested, why would he have risked his life to save mine?

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side, "I always say too much, when I'm talking to you. That's one of the problems."

I scowled, "It _could_ be a problem if you ever said anything straight out. As it is, I don't understand your meanings most of the time, anyway."

"I'm counting on that."

I let out a resentful huff. I was tempted to simply get up and return to my usual table. The problem was that my curiosity wasn't sated by his formless answers. I wasn't sure how to interpret his actions – did this lunch meeting signal a start to our friendship or not? Was he simply toying with me now that he realized that I was dangling on a string?

I decided to simply ask. The best way to learn the truth of a situation was to ask the most basic of questions.

"Look, I need a straight answer, Edward. Are we friends now or not?"

"Friends …" He rolled the word around in his mouth, as though trying to decide whether the flavor was satisfactory.

His hesitance made me worry that I'd misinterpreted the implications of the situation. However, before I could get too worked up, he spoke again.

"Well, I suppose we can try. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you."

"You keep saying that …."

"Because you aren't listening. I'm still waiting for you to believe it." He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward again, "If you're smart, you'll stay away from me."

"You know, I could be wrong, but I don't believe friends typically begin by insulting each other's intelligence!"

His reiterated opinion of my intellect had my hackles up once more. If he thought so little of me, _why in the world_ did he insist on being around me?

Edward grimaced slightly and then put on an apologetic smile, "Apologies."

I nodded and then unscrewed the lid of my lemonade, taking a quick sip while I organized my thoughts. "Let me see if I understand you correctly," I adjusted some wording before vocalizing my hypothesis. "We will attempt to be friends so long as I'm content in being naïve?"

"That sounds about right."

Throughout the progression of the discussion, I'd been trying to fit the oddly-shaped pieces of information he'd been supplying together. The problem was in their arrangement. None of them seemed to be lining up properly – like a jigsaw that was missing a few key pieces.

Why was this boy so eager to spend time with me and yet overtly vocal about the necessity of being separate? Most importantly – to me, at least – why would it be better for us _not_ to be friends? My early-morning reasoning returned with a resounding thud. Perhaps I'd been more right than I'd thought. Maybe he _was_ trying to protect us both. Maybe it was for the best. I couldn't afford to play the naïve teenager. Too much was at stake for me to abandon reason for frivolity.

When the suspicion slid firmly into place, I was almost ready to tell him goodbye. Eager to put as much social and physical space between us as possible. I'd finally found a place that I _liked_ living in. I wasn't ready to give that up yet just so that I could spend some short-lived weeks in this boy's intriguing presence.

As if he were reading the emotions flittering furtively across my face, Edward spoke, "What are you thinking?" His tone was penetrating, intense – as though he'd been _dying_ to ask me that for _weeks_.

I intended to give a vaguely unsatisfying answer – just as he was apt to do. I meant to say that I was trying to figure him out. However, when I looked up into his depthless golden eyes, my words became tangled and what came out was entirely different.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are …."

Before this moment, I had thought that my curiosity had been based solely on his pretty face, perfect body, and his silence about my own abnormalities. Now, I realized that part of my overwhelming interest stemmed from wanting to know _what_ he was, not only _who_ he was. After all, he hadn't been hurt by that van any more than I had ….

My misspoken gaffe seemed to have struck a nerve in him. His jaw tightened and his eyes became weary. He attempted to disguise his tenseness behind a level, teasing tone.

Suddenly, I became worried. What if his strain came from him wondering about what _I_ was?

"Are you having any luck with that?" His offhandedness didn't diminish the roiling worry nagging in the pit of my stomach.

"Not particularly." Truthful enough. There was absolutely _no_ progress at the moment – how could there have been? I hadn't even known that I was _considering_ this possibility until just a few seconds ago. Myriads of possibilities were flying through my now shocked mind – none of which made any sort of sense.

The answer had been meant to provide an opening for a topic change. Unfortunately, Edward didn't seem interested in a new subject.

"You must have some theories …."

I could feel my eyes widen in shock and disbelief and I shook my head in refusal. What had just popped into my head was _not_ worthy of repeat. Moreover, it was embarrassing on a level I wouldn't have thought conceivable.

"Won't you tell me?" He smirked slightly, though there was still tension in his face.

"Not a chance." I crossed my arms over my chest and squared my shoulders and jaw. Subject closed.

"That's really frustrating, you know."

"Oh, is it now? Well, perhaps a little frustration will do you some good." I raised my eyebrows at him and meant every word I said. This boy's cryptic comments had been the trigger of many a sleep-deprived evening. Now it was my turn to dole out some confusion.

Edward's expression turned inquisitive. He didn't seem to understand my implication.

"Yes. It might make you think about your own cryptic little remarks. At least I won't be the only one suffering insomnia stemmed from vague statements."

He grimaced.

I was on a roll, so to speak. The next statement was out before I could register the inherent hypocrisy in it, "Oh, and let's not even get onto the subject of actions. There are some intriguing examples of those readily available, as well."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" His question was more a statement of fact rather than an inquiry.

It was true. I did have a temper. It had gotten me into any number of troubling situations over the years. Unfortunately, I had jumped aboard a runaway train that was carrying me well beyond reason.

"Perhaps I simply don't appreciate pretenses."

Edward's eyebrows shot up and his expression turned incredulous.

I blushed. After all, I had a few _odd_ actions left unexplained myself ….

We fell into another uncomfortable silence. I was still rather self-conscious about my previous slip and decided that a subject shift was in order. I set upon a topic that was both more mundane and yet still utterly vital to me – his presence in my life.

"Would it be asking too much to beg a favor of you?"

He tensed again, looking weary, "That depends on what it is you want …."

"Oh, it's nothing much, I assure you. I was just hoping you could provide me with some advanced notice the next time you decide to ignore me – for my own good, of course."

It was humbling to request this from him. Simply asking revealed how painful his ostracism of me had been. Weakness was not something I tended to coddle and I did my best to disguise its existence from outside parties.

"You want warning?" He seemed surprised. My request had caught him off guard, apparently.

"Yes. I'd appreciate knowing I'm a leper before the masses decide to quarantine me." My tone was a bit cutting, but I meant every word. I hadn't much enjoyed my time as a pariah.

"Would that help?" Concern etched his voice.

"Perhaps, "I shrugged. "Either way, I would still like the opportunity to pack my bags before being chucked aside."

"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together, as though he were working hard not to laugh.

"Much obliged." Looking down once more, I took a swig of the lemonade.

"Oh?" His casual tone put up my guard, "Can I have a favor as well?"

Well, fair was fair, "I suppose …"

"Tell me one of your theories." He was smug now, having thought to trap me in the workings of polite society.

I shook my head vehemently from side to side, "I don't think so."

"Why not? You didn't specify, you just promised a favor."

"I did not promise. I supposed. Besides, that isn't a favor. That's a public embarrassment waiting to happen." I had no _intention_ of revealing the inner workings of my mind. However, I knew that I had a hard time denying this beautiful boy anything.

"I won't laugh, I promise."

"Yes, you will." I was sure of that. Images of Greek Urns depicting the adventures of Achilles were running through my head as I spoke. There was no way I was going to own up to those speculations.

What happened next effectively clothes-lined me. Edward lowered his face to stare at the tabletop for a few seconds then, slyly, he glanced up at me through the thick curtain of his lashes, "Please?"

Everything went blank. I couldn't think; I couldn't breathe. It was as though the book from which I'd been reading had suddenly gone up in smoke. A few seconds passed before I could reassert control over my primary functions. "What?" I couldn't remember what he'd asked. How in the world had he done that? I'd never been unhorsed so thoroughly.

"Please tell me just one little theory." He was still gazing at me in the most delectable way I could imagine.

"Dipped in the River Styx?"

I had _totally_ not meant to say that. I had meant to deny him again. Unfortunately, his smoldering eyes were wreaking havoc on my thought processes. Was he some sort of hypnotist?

"That's not very creative." He smiled triumphantly and leaned away from me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that I was supposed to take this seriously!" I was thoroughly miffed now. It was bad enough having made the confession in the first place, let alone having it ridiculed.

"You're not even close." He was definitely teasing me.

"Oh? No rivers, then?"

"Nope."

"And no divine heritage?"

"None."

"Oh well."

"Haven't run into any gorgons, either." He began chuckling.

"I thought you weren't going to laugh."

He struggled to compose his face, but the amusement was still written all over his gloriously perfect features.

"Best be careful. You keep prodding me and I just might figure it out, eventually."

"I wish you wouldn't try," his tone was utterly frank. No trace of the previous amusement colored its tenor reverberations. In fact, his presentation almost seemed a veiled plea.

"And why not?" I was curious to discover his reasoning.

"What if I'm not the hero? What if I'm the villain?" He made a valiant attempt to reintegrate humor into his tone but I could see through it.

In that moment, his warnings became clear. He thought he was dangerous. No, not thought. _Believed_. At first, my mind brushed his assertion aside – it wasn't like he could be physically dangerous to me. I opened my mouth to voice my disagreement when the rest of the thought came to its conclusion. Perhaps there _was_ some truth to his statement. After all, it didn't take all that much more to kill me that a normal person ….

"I see …" I closed my mouth and analyzed this new stream of thought.

"Do you?" He seemed concerned. In fact, he seemed to brace himself, as though for a blow.

"You're dangerous …?" I didn't really need confirmation.

As I was looking at him, I suddenly realized that, even if his statement was true, it didn't much matter. On the remote possibility that there was something dangerous about him, _he_ wasn't dangerous. There was something good, something noble about him – trustworthy, almost.

He didn't answer me. He simply stared.

This lack of confirmation or denial of menace said it all. He thought so. Part of me reached out to him – a teenage boy who believed he was little more than a monster. I could relate … in a way. I felt the need to assuage his mind.

"I suppose you _could_ be … except you've got one small chink in your bad-guy armor."

Edward's expression turned questioning but he didn't speak.

"You see, most villains don't go around saving complete strangers from brushes with death."

His lips turned up slightly at the corners, as if he were amused by my deduction.

"Therefore, based on my limited experience with your Derry-Dos, I'd have to say that villainy isn't your style. You can put on the mask all you like but it simply doesn't fit you."

Edward's face fell – wiping away the brief glimmer of humor. "You're wrong." His voice was nearly inaudible – as though he didn't want me to hear his declaration.

Absently, he reached across the table and snagged the discarded bottle cap from my lemonade, spinning it on its side.

I couldn't understand the whispered denial. Why would he be so reluctant to continue his warnings now? Did he want to be around me so badly that he was afraid of being too honest with me?

The silence was growing slightly uncomfortable. I wasn't sure whether to continue arguing with him or not. On the one hand, I adored the sound of his voice – smooth and perfectly articulated. One the other, continuing down this road of discussion might open to detours I would much rather avoid.

Quietly seeking a distraction, I looked up only to realize that the cafeteria was nearly empty. My eyes roamed the walls until I spotted the old clock hanging over the register. According to the time, the first bell had already rung. Why hadn't I heard it?

I wasn't exactly anxious to get to biology – it meant postponing any further conversation until the next time Edward mysteriously decided to grace me with his presence – yet ditching was not something I should do. Julia wouldn't much approve ….

"We'd best be going or we're going to be late." I stood, resigned and grabbed my discarded bag from the floor.

"I'm not going to class."

"Why not?" This seemed out of character. The only school he'd missed had been in my first week.

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then."

I bit my lip, hesitating. Ditching wasn't something I should do. Julia wouldn't much approve ….

"I should go …." I was tempted to join him – if for no other reason than to prolong our proximity – but I wasn't secure enough in my new life to risk it.

"I'll see you later, then." He said significantly.

I hesitated again … my responsible, logical half warring with the rebellious half. The warning bell rang and I jumped, "I have to go."

When I reached the cafeteria door, I cast a brief glance over my shoulder to see if he was actually going to stay. He was still seated at our shared table, spinning the bottle cap between his fingers.

Despite my tardiness, I made it into class before Mr. Banner arrived. However, Mike seemed to be shooting resentful looks at me when I took my seat. I heard the rolling cart before I saw it. Mr. Banner maneuvered it through the door and stopped at the back row to pass its contents out. Lost in the midst of my own intriguing morning, I had completely forgotten that it was a lab day. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue. I preferred lab work to lectures – at least I got to _do_ something. Today, however, it was going to be different. A quick scan of the carts contents told me everything I needed to know. We were doing Blood Typing ….

I didn't much like blood – I had _more_ than enough experience with it. In fact, the sight and smell of blood often made me physically ill. _Why oh _why _hadn't I ditched when I'd had the chance?_

"Alright, everyone. Take one item from each box and pass it along. The hospital in Port Angeles is having a blood drive next week and I though you all should know your blood type. You'll need a parent's permission, if you're under eighteen. I've got forms on my desk to pick up after class. Now, I will be coming around to prepare your indicator cards," He held up one of the white squares, "so please don't start until I get to you."

He dripped some water onto each of the squares on Mike's indicator card and then held up one of the covered needles, "This is a sterile micro-lancet." He removed the plastic cover and grabbed Mike's right hand. "You use it to lance your finger like this," he jabbed the tip of Mike's index finger.

Even before Mr. Banner had skewered Mike's finger, I could feel the nausea setting in. My world was becoming very small, the edges of my vision blurring and fading away into black. My ears were filled with the sound of my own blood pulsing through me and my stomach began fluttering in an uncomfortable manner.

The instant Mike's skin was actually punctured, the sickeningly sweet and horribly salty smell of the released blood filled my nose. I couldn't block it out no matter how hard I tried.

Careful not to give myself a concussion, I eased my head down onto my arms which were rigidly placed on top of my lab table and concentrated very hard on breathing through my mouth. It had the opposite effect I desired. This made the scent turn to taste, which didn't make the situation any better. The only upside was that I could at least pull in more air through my mouth than my nose.

I could vaguely hear Mr. Banner continue his exemplary lecture but I was no longer focused on his words. I was going to lose consciousness, I could feel it.

"Lily," Mr. Banner's voice was suddenly very close, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine." My automatic response was shaky and strained. I _needed_ to get out of the room.

"Do you feel ill?"

I nodded – it was about all I could manage. I could feel my stomach twisting and knotting. _Please let me not throw up!_

"Will someone please take Lily to the nurse?"

It was no surprise that Mike Newton volunteered.

One small fraction of my mind registered that having someone with an open bleeding wound escort me out of the building would probably compound my current predicament. However, I was woozy enough that I was willing to risk it – if only to escape the repugnant stench of the other student's lesions.

He half-carried me out of the classroom into the softly misting rain. The cool droplets were refreshing, in a way, but the lingering odor of rusty blood still weighed heavily in my head.

The smell of Mike's injury was fainter out in the open air, but I could still smell it – the scent wafting up from the hand wrapped protectively around my waist. I tried my best to keep my mouth shut and to stem the ever-urgent instinct to gag. Throwing up on a chivalrous companion was never a good idea.

By the time we made it around the corner of the cafeteria, I needed to sit down. Well, I _actually_ needed to get out of close proximity with Mike's hand. My stomach was grumbling and churning violently and I could all but feel the bile rising in the back of my throat.

"Mike," I gasped and stopped walking. "Just let me sit down a moment, please."

Without waiting for him to acknowledge my request, I let my knees buckle. My weight was enough that he couldn't keep me standing using his current grip. He helped to lower me to the pavement slowly.

I was weaker than I thought. When he released me to shift his grip, I couldn't quite manage to hold myself upright. My head spun and the next thing I knew, I was lying on my side on the damp pavement. It took a few seconds before the aching on the side of my head told me that I'd fallen over.

Mike was hovering worriedly over me, "Wow, Lily. You look green."

I didn't answer. The cold cement under my cheek felt good and the smell of the grass and dirt was overpowering his blood.

"We should get you to the nurse," he tried to get his arm under me to help me rise.

I was having none of it. I was having enough trouble concentrating on not vomiting and not passing out. I let my body go completely slack. I knew he wasn't muscular enough to lift my dead weight off the sidewalk.

From a distance I heard a strikingly familiar voice call my name.

"Lily?"

_No_, I thought pleadingly. _Please don't let it be _him_. Please!_ I'd already revealed far too many weaknesses to Edward Cullen today. I didn't want to add this to the list.

"What's wrong – is she hurt?" Edward's voice stopped a short distance from me.

I clenched my eyes shut and wished for invisibility.

"I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened; she didn't even stick her finger." Mike's tone was defensive and somewhat petulant.

Suddenly, Edward's voice was very close to my ear. I could feel his cool breath wash over the side of my face, "Lily. Can you hear me?"

"No." I groaned. There was no force behind my word – I didn't seem to have enough energy to imbue it with anything other than exhaustion. "Go away."

I heard Edward chuckle softly into my hair.

"I was taking her to the nurse but she wouldn't go any farther," Mike tried again.

"I'll take her. You can go back to class," Edward's tone was dismissive.

Mike spoke through clenched teeth, "No. I'm supposed to do it."

Without warning, I felt two cool, rock-hard arms slip under my limp form and lift me off the pavement. I made the mistake of allowing my eyes to pop open in shock. Edward Cullen had swept me up off the sidewalk and was holding me in arms extended away from his chest.

"Put me down!" My weak voice had a slightly harder edge behind it. I didn't much appreciate being carried. The last time I'd been whisked away like this, I'd been too injured to walk ….

"Hey!" Mike's protest was lost as Edward began walking.

"You look awful," Edward teased as I looked up, wide-eyed, into his topaz eyes. His face was pulled into a poor semblance of dignified concern.

"Put me back on the sidewalk, please." The rocking motion of his walk was making the nausea spike in strange, unfamiliar ways. When I finished the plea, I clamped my mouth shut and focused on not vomiting on him. I'd have forgiven myself eventually if I'd purged on Mike … I wouldn't be able to if I did it to Edward.

He ignored me and instead set to teasing me, "So you faint at the sight of blood?"

I squinted up at him to see that he was grinning from ear to ear. I scowled until I felt the need to close my eyes again.

"And not even your own blood." His amusement knew no bounds.

I would never live this down, "I …" I tried to defend myself, but I quickly abandoned the attempt when my stomach clenched violently.

Without warning, the cool, misting rain gave way to warmth and I heard a woman gasp, "Oh my."

We slowed and I risked a glance. Ms. Cope was standing behind the counter looking overly concerned.

"She fainted in Biology," Edward explained without reservation.

I groaned softly. I tried to respond that I _hadn't_ fainted … just gotten dizzy. Unfortunately, my body was having none of it. The only intelligible words that came out were 'not' and 'dizzy'.

Edward grinned down at me as Ms. Cope raced forward to open the door to the nurse's office.

The elderly woman looked up from a novel she was reading and shock registered on her face.

Edward casually swung me around and placed me gently on the crackly paper covering the single cot in the room. Before I had a chance to protest – which I was considering – he was across the room, his back pressed against the far wall.

He looked at the still-startled nurse, "She's just a bit faint," his smile grew vaguely mocking, "they're blood typing in Biology."

The wizened nurse nodded sagely, "There's always one."

And I had to be that _one_. Go figure ….

"Just lie down for a minute, honey. It'll pass." The nurse began fussing.

"I know." My groan was a little less irritated than I'd intended it to be. I didn't need to be taken care of. I _needed_ to be left alone to gather myself.

"Does this happen often?"

"Occasionally," I admitted. Sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was better.

Edward tried to cover his snicker under a barely passable cough.

The nurse turned away from me and looked at him, "You can go back to class now," she said.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." His tone was matter-of-fact and utterly confident. There was no hint of a lie at all.

The nurse pursed her lips slightly and then looked back at me, "I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear." She left the room without waiting for a response.

I breathed deeply for a moment, luxuriating in the utter lack of an even remotely rusty or salty smell in the room. The nausea and dizziness had begun to fade the moment we'd stopped moving. When I was certain the nurse was out of earshot – her heels clicked distinctively against the linoleum flooring – I addressed Edward.

"You were right, by the way," I left my eyes closed.

"I usually am," the amusement was strained again. "But about what in particular this time?"

"Apparently," I opened my eyes and looked over at him. The wry smile I let spread across my face was meant to convey my cynicism as well as grudging acceptance, "ditching can be healthier than class."

He smirked and I closed my eyes again. The mint-green walls weren't quite stationery yet ….

We were silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

"You scared me for a minute there," he said. There was an underlying embarrassment lingering behind his words – as though he was confessing some faux pas weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"I'm sure." My tone was sarcastic.

"Honestly – I've seen corpses with better color."

I cringed. It was true – at least in a generalization sense. I was morbidly pale compared to most people. Moreover, whenever I became ill, my skin took on a distinctly cartoonish pallor.

"I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Well, no need today. Poor Mike, though. He's probably mad …."

"He absolutely loathes me," he seemed cheered by the idea.

"You can't know that …." I opened my eyes and looked at him, letting my words trail off. Maybe he could …. He'd mentioned how easily he read everybody. Except me.

"I saw his face – I could tell."

I nodded, acknowledging the possibility. However, I got the distinct impression that Mike's face hadn't been the giveaway. As I examined this suspicion, I remembered something. He'd been ditching.

"Wait. I thought you were ditching …."

"I was," he seemed confused.

"How did you see me, then? Where were you?"

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." This was an unexpectedly normal response from him – straightforward, too.

I was grateful when the nurse came bustling back in with a cold compress for my forehead. I knew my expression was surprised and possibly incredulous. Edward had never answered a question I'd asked so plainly. There had always been some underlying implication. Moreover, I wasn't accustomed to thinking of him as being _normal_. From the moment I'd first seen him, Edward had always been _extraordinary_.

"Here you go, dear. You're looking better."

When the nurse laid the icy bag on my forehead I realized that I no longer felt ill. I didn't particularly want to stay in the woman's care any longer. I'd had enough of fussing medical personnel recently ….

"I'm feeling much better, now." I sat up, pulling the ice pack away. The ringing in my ears was almost gone and the dizziness was manageable.

The nurse's hands fluttered toward me – as though expecting to have to catch me. Just at that moment, Ms. Cope opened the door to the office and leaned in, "We've got another one."

The instant the wafted air hit my face; I immediately ceased the inflow of air to my lungs. The warm breeze carried the faintest hint of metallic saltiness. I jumped off the cot and smiled warmly at the nurse, "Here," I used as little air as possible, "I don't need this anymore."

Mike Newton grunted as he half-shoved a sallow-looking boy – Lee-Something? – through the door.

"Oh, no." Edward's voice was low and serious, drawing my eyes to his face. "Get out of the office, Lily."

Confused, I stared at him without processing his words.

"Trust me – go."

Instinctively, I whirled and caught the door before it had swung completely shut and rushed through into the office. Edward was immediately on my heels.

When I was far enough from the bleeding patient that I was certain I wouldn't gag, I turned back to Edward and looked at him.

"You actually listened to me," he was surprised. Granted, it was a first ….

I wrinkled my nose and took a tentative sniff – the scent was still there but mostly masked by those of Ms. Cope's perfume and the ever-present potted greenery. "I smelled the blood," I admitted without thinking.

"People can't smell blood." Edward's face was firm and disapproving.

_Crap._ I knew this. In small amounts, the faint metallic trace of salt was indistinguishable to a vast majority of the human population. I'd been among this majority before …. I stiffened and shook my head slightly – as much to rid myself of the memory as to show disagreement. "Well, I can. The rusty, salty," _sweet …,_ "smell is what makes me sick." I shuddered.

He stared blankly at me, as though he were seeing me in a new light … or analyzing me.

"What?" I became defensive. I didn't like being examined.

"It's nothing."

I would have pushed the subject but, at that moment, Mike came out of the nurse's office to join us. I stopped breathing again until the door was firmly shut behind him.

"_You_ look better," his tone was acidic. I had been right. He was mad.

"For the moment," I leaned slightly away from him – trying not to make it obvious, "just keep your hand in your pocket. I don't want …."

"It's not bleeding anymore," Mike pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket and looked at it before I was finished.

I closed my eyes to keep them from focusing on the small blob of congealed blood covering his puncture and refrained from taking a gasping breath. I stepped away, involuntarily, and waited for him to speak again.

"Are you going back to class?"

My eyes flew open in shock and I stared incredulously at him. _Was he insane?_ "No. I think _one_ trip to the nurse's office is enough for me." I tried not to sound irritated. Did he honestly think that my reaction was a one-time-thing or was he simply not considering the fact that re-subjecting myself to copious amounts of flowing blood would result in yet _another_ dizzy spell – the next time possibly including fainting and, or vomiting?

"Yeah, I guess …." Mike mumbled. He glanced sideways at Edward who was leaning casually against the secretary's counter and apparently paying no attention to our discourse. "So are you going this weekend?"

I didn't follow, "Going?"

"To the beach?" He continued.

Right. I'd completely forgotten about the outing in light of my recent wooziness. However, as I went to answer, I finally understood the implication between Mike's timing and his wording. He hadn't mentioned the rest of the group on purpose. He intended to imply that he and I had some sort of date. Well, I wasn't going to let him give anyone that impression – let alone Edward.

"Oh, the group outing? Sure. I said I was going." I emphasized the wording so as to make it perfectly clear – to Mike as well as Edward – that I was not going on a _date_ with Mike.

Mike's shoulders sagged slightly and he shot a dirty look at Edward, "We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten."

"Okay, I'll be there." I smiled in as friendly a manner as I could. His underhanded manipulation was not endearing.

"I'll see you in Gym, then." He shuffled dejectedly to the office door.

"See you," I plastered the present smile on my face as he shuffled out into the misting rain.

When Mike was thoroughly out of earshot, I slumped my shoulders, let the fake smile fade off my face, and groaned. I _really_ didn't want to have to see his disappointed face again in Gym. In all honesty, I kind of felt like I had kicked a particularly needy puppy ….

Edward shot me a questioning glance.

"Gym," I elaborated softly, groaning.

He came to my side and bent close to my face, "I can take care of that." He motioned toward the chairs in the waiting area with a jerk of his head, "Go sit down and look pale."

That was hardly a challenge – I was always pale. I nodded and slunk over to the uncomfortable folding chairs, sinking weakly into one. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, concentrating fully on breathing in and out. Despite overcoming the feelings of nausea and dizziness, I was still not quite up to par. Blood exposure almost always had this effect on me.

"Ms. Cope?" Edward's voice was velvet, soft, and extremely enticing. If I hadn't been focused on playing my part, I would have been staring at him. I could only imagine what that tone and the look he no doubt wore were doing to that poor woman.

"Yes?" Her voice was fluttering.

I almost snickered. She was totally under Edward's sway. Then, as if I'd been hit by a truck, the thought that I might react to him like that crossed my mind. I gulped. I sincerely hoped not. I had enough trouble maintaining a reasonable social aloofness with him _without_ adding mindlessly flirtatious or inept babbling to my list of complications.

"Lily has gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?"

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Her caressing voice wrapped around his name and I gulped again. I couldn't be capable of that, could I?

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind." His calm voice never strayed beyond casual and yet I was certain his fathomless eyes were wreaking havoc on the poor middle-aged woman. Suddenly, I was _very_ glad that I wasn't on the receiving end of another one of his persuasive requests. At the rate I was going, I might not even stand up as well as Ms. Cope ….

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Lily."

I nodded weakly and opened my eyes. Yup, her face was flushed and blushing-bride red.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" Edward asked as he came over to me. The faintest hint of mockery rode his tone as he raised an eyebrow at me.

I wanted to walk and he knew it. I grimaced at him – fighting the urge to stick my tongue out, "I believe I can walk."

I got up, swaying slightly as I did so. It wasn't likely that I would fall over now, but it was always prudent to check before you got underway. Edward held the door open for me and I went outside.

As soon as I was out from under the eaves, I lifted my face up to the soft drizzle and closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling of the cool water washing away the sheen of sweat from earlier. I inhaled deeply and smiled before opening my eyes and looking at Edward.

"Thank you," I smiled at him. "Missing Gym is almost worth the fainting spell. I guess I owe you one."

"Anytime." He gazed out over the misty campus.

I couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd done me a favor, I'd acknowledged it, and now we had nothing further to discuss. A quick recap of the day's conversations told me that I'd already said more than enough for one day. In the interest of discretion, I would be best served by going home and thinking about how to dig myself out of the proverbial hole I'd already fallen into.

"Thank you again. I'll see you tomorrow." I turned toward the parking lot, extremely glad that I hadn't taken off my jacket before I'd taken my seat in Biology. My essentials were stored in the zip-pockets of my midnight spacesuit. The rest could be gotten in the morning. I could do my math homework in English.

Before I'd taken two steps, Edward grabbed a hold of the hood of my jacket, "Where do you think you're going?" His tone was angry.

"Home?" I didn't quite understand his objection. Hadn't he told the nurse that I needed to go home? Surely he wasn't such a stickler for homework that he'd insist I retrieve my bag before departing.

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

I turned defensive, "My condition?" I tried to jerk the hood out of his hand but he maintained an iron grip, "I am perfectly fine to drive home. Besides, what about my car?"

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." He half-dragged me backward toward his car.

"Let go!" He ignored me until we were beside his car. I righted myself as soon as I was no longer being unceremoniously hauled, "There was _no_ reason for that!"

"It's open."

I stood out in the rain, irritated and contemplating rebellion. The only thing stopping me was my factual knowledge that Edward was _much_ faster than I was. And, considering his recent man-handling of me, I was certain he'd simply bring me back – slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, if he had to.

I heard his car door open and shut, then the whir of the automatic window behind me.

I turned an icy stare back at him, "I am perfectly capable of driving myself home, Mr. Cullen."

"Get in, Lily."

The order wasn't encompassing. It was meant as a request, though the statement left little room for refusal. My eyes flickered toward the hazily distant shape of my car ….

"I'll just drag you back." He promised.

Just as I thought. My jaw stiffened and my mouth pursed into a stubborn line. With as much dignity as I could muster, I opened the Volvo's door and took the passenger's seat. Internally, I was a little appeased by the fact that my now-dripping hair, jacket, and shoes were mucking up the inside of his pristine car. It was at least some measure of payback …. I'd always been bullheaded; liking neither to be told what to do nor to have my actions corrected after the fact.

Once I was securely ensconced in the car, Edward began fiddling with the controls, turning the stereo volume down and the heater up. As I sat there fuming about the collar, I had to admit – just to myself – that his pushiness wasn't all that bad. Had I not been disappointed when I wasn't going to see him during our biology class? Now, not only had I gotten to see him during that time, I was thoroughly alone with him.

Finally, both resigned and relaxed, I forced myself to stop acting the part of the teenager I physically resembled. It was then that I recognized the music softly playing over the speakers.

"Clair de Lune?" I asked a little perplexed.

He seemed utterly surprised, "You know Debussy?"

Oops. I'd danced to a wide range of compositions – being trained in both classical and contemporary dance. However, I wasn't yet comfortable enough with Edward to admit this to him. Especially considering the propensity of boys in this town to ask me to dances …. Instead, I decided to provide a more descript excuse for recognizing the tune, "A bit. I used to hear a lot of classical music played at home, when I was younger. This has always been one of my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out the windshield at the rain, seeming utterly lost to thoughts.

I glanced out the window, hoping to end the line of conversation, only to notice that the buildings and trees were zooming past in a faster-than-usual fashion. At the current rate, we'd be to Julia's in no time at all – not that the town was exorbitantly large to begin with.

"Can I ask something?" His voice was a little on-edge.

I glanced over, curious, "I don't see why not."

"Julia is your aunt, right?" He was hedging, I could tell.

"Sort of …," I bit my lower lip as I tried to think of a short-version explanation to provide.

He looked over at me with a slightly dissatisfied expression.

"She's my aunt, now – though we're not related biologically." I looked out the window in an attempt to avoid the sure-to-be-present expression of commiseration on his face. "I was adopted by her younger brother, Alex, and his wife." I tried to sound as matter of fact as possible. I didn't want sympathy.

"I see." He fell silent for a few moments. "How long were you with them?" He was skirting his real inquiry again.

"Three years." I didn't elaborate. Most people didn't really want to know. I was oddly comfortable discussing this with him. Possibly it was because I knew he, too, had been adopted.

"How old are you, Lily?"

The change in subject confused me but my answer was ready enough, "I'm seventeen. Why?"

"You don't seem seventeen." He looked at me.

I laughed. He was observant, wasn't he? I'd always had a hard time fully passing for a teenager. My mannerisms and habits were more conducive to an adult.

"What?" He seemed confused.

I remembered something Steph had once told me – after I'd had an argument over the frivolity of attending Homecoming at my last school. "Stephenie always told me that I was a little old-woman trapped in a teenager's body." I smiled to myself and attempted to repress the twinge of pain that shot through my heart at the thought of Steph. "Well, sometimes things happen that make you grow up …." This last part was barely a whisper – something I didn't intend him to hear.

"Stephenie?"

"My adoptive mother – Alex's wife." I glanced out the window and realized that we were stopped in front of my house, "Though, truth be told, you don't act much like a junior yourself."

He grimaced and continued with his inquiries, "What about your parents? What were they like?"

The question blindsided me. We'd moved to more lighthearted fare and I hadn't been expecting the ice-cold plunge back into loss-related topics.

I was as honest as I could be, "They died a long time ago. I don't really remember much about them."

Just before lowering my eyes to stare at my hands, I thought I caught his eyes flicker to my left wrist. Something about the action made me uneasy.

"I'm sorry." He was sincere.

"Thank you," it was whispered and automatic. A trained response for polite society. I didn't remember my father at all and I'd known from a young age that my mother had died in childbirth. My extended family was the first one I'd ever known.

He seemed a bit uncomfortable now. Apparently, he regretted expressing his curiosity. Now that the subject had been opened, I felt that I had leeway to delve into his past.

"Can I ask you something, now?"

He looked at me cautiously, "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" This wasn't exactly secret information. Jessica had mentioned it on my first day.

"Yes." His tone was casual and more relaxed.

"Can I ask what happened to your parents?"

"They died a very long time ago."

I'd guessed as much and offered the rote condolences, "I'm sorry."

"I, too, don't remember them that clearly," he assured me. "Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now." His mouth quirked into a faint smile.

"You love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them – honor mingled with reverence.

"Yes," He smiled fully. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You were very fortunate." It was true. Most children in the _'system'_ didn't get as lucky – I could attest to that first hand.

"I know I am." He nodded and looked me over briefly. "You, too, seemed to have found a loving family."

I nodded, "Yes. It took time but I'm grateful. I wouldn't trade my time with Alex and Steph – and Julia, now – for anything in the world."

"That's a good outlook."

I nodded. "What about your brothers and sisters?"

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

I glanced at the clock. It was almost time for school to let out, "Oh, I'm sorry. You need to get going."

Despite my words, I didn't move. I wasn't particularly keen on leaving his company – especially now that he was answering my questions.

"And you probably want your car back before Julia gets home and you have to tell her about the Biology incident."

I grimaced, "I'm sure she already knows. There seem to be no secrets in Forks." _Except mine, and I intend to keep it that way._

Edward laughed, "Have fun at the beach." He glanced out at the pouring rain, "Nice weather for sunbathing."

I sincerely hoped he was joking. I'd likely be wearing a parka, ski mitts, and earmuffs. Then his meaning set in. "Won't I see you tomorrow?" There was a hollow place in the pit of my stomach, suddenly. Was he telling me goodbye again?

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early," he informed me.

"Oh …," I was disappointed. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Too bad." I smirked slyly at him – couldn't seem to help myself.

He looked inquisitively at me.

"Well, if you didn't have plans you could have come to the beach."

"Where all are you planning on going?" He sounded interested.

Perhaps I could convince him to stay …. "First beach in La Push. I've never been but it should be interesting."

He smirked back at me, "Let's you and I not push Mike any farther this week. We don't want him to snap or something." His teasing tone was enticing.

I shrugged, "I wasn't aware that Mike had a right to feel pushed. I mean, First Beach _is_ a public beach, after all."

Edward laughed and the merriment danced in his amber eyes, "Intriguing as that sounds, I wouldn't want to disappoint Emmett. He's been looking forward to this for a while."

"All right. Well, have fun. Don't get eaten by bears or anything."

He stiffened slightly but smiled back at me, "Will you do something for me this weekend?"

I nodded – couldn't seem to stop myself. I didn't like committing to something before I knew the terms, generally speaking.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just _attract_ accidents like a magnet. So … try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?"

I glared dolefully at him. His implication that I was some sort of helpless damsel in distress irked me. I'd lived for years at a time without _attracting_ accidents or the like. One weekend wasn't going to shatter my current record – or was it?

"I'll see what I can do." My tone was terse and I exited the car without attempting to look neutral. I slammed the door behind me and raced up the steps under cover of the porch.

When I looked back, the silver Volvo was disappearing into the misty distance back toward the school.

* * *

><p>Thoroughly drenched, I decided to take a warm shower. When I got out, I peeked out the front windows to see my T-Bird parked in the driveway. Getting hastily dressed, I pulled the vehicle into the garage, finding my backpack resting on the passenger's seat. Edward must have had Alice retrieve it for me. How thoughtful.<p>

It wasn't until I was back in my room, spreading my math homework over my desk that I wondered how Edward had gotten my car key off my keychain ….


	6. Chapter 6: Scary Stories

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_ **- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_ **or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

In this exciting chapter, we get Lily's trip to La Push, with a TWIST! Hope you all like what I've done with it - and I'd LOVE to hear your suspicions about why what happens, happens.  
>ENJOY!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6:<strong>

The worst thing about Friday? Even though I _knew_ Edward wasn't going to be there, I couldn't help hoping he'd changed his mind. The beach would be much more enjoyable, if I had someone interesting to spend the day with.

Logically, I understood that it was better for him to not become _more_ involved with me. Friendship was one thing. Courtship was another.

On top of that, were the myriad of fainting comments – Jessica, particularly, seemed to think those were hilarious. Luckily for me, Mike's pride had kept him from mentioning Edward's involvement. I couldn't even _begin_ to fathom what level of hysteria that little side-note would have induced.

Trig class was an entirely different matter, however. Jessica – seeming to have momentarily forgotten the Biology incident – turned her ever-probative inquires on my lunchtime chitchat with Edward.

"So, what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?"

It took me a second to switch topics, mentally. When, finally, I was on the right page, I decided that a lie was better than the truth. After all, I _knew_ she'd once tried to catch his interest. My having done so would only create an impassable chasm between us, "Not all that much, really."

"You looked kind of mad," she fished.

"Did I?" I shrugged, "Well, it's probably because he never really got to the point. He just sort of talked in circles …."

"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone besides his family before. That was weird …."

"Strange," I agreed. Strange that he should, after all this time and effort from other people, decide that _I_ was someone with whom he would like to kindle a friendship.

Jessica tossed her dark curls over her shoulder in a distinctly _annoyed_ fashion. Apparently, my vagueness was ill-appreciated. Considering her propensity for schoolyard gossip, I suppose she had been hoping for some juicy tidbit that would somehow increase her social standing.

By lunchtime, I was thoroughly barricaded within my self-designed emotional rut. Everyone at the usual table was fully engrossed in planning for the beach trip tomorrow. Mike seemed to have gotten over his momentary disappointment over the failed 'knight in shining armor' opportunity yesterday. He was animated, fidgeting around and grandly gesturing with his hands. He was putting a lot of faith in the local weatherman's favorable report. In my experience, meteorologists were rarely, if ever, right on par with the actual weather. It had to be a little like playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey when the Donkey was both restless and unpredictably ill-tempered. However, I had to give the man some credit. It was warmer today – almost sixty. If we were really lucky, we would be able to leave the earmuffs at home ….

Throughout the entirety of lunch, Lauren Malory – the corn-silk blonde who sat across the table from me and never directly addressed me – shot me a startling range of dirty looks. I'd already gathered that she didn't much relish my company. However, until now, she'd basically ignored my presence. I didn't understand the increased hostility until after the bell had rung. We were all making our way out of the cafeteria and I was stuck behind her and Mike.

"Don't know why _Lily_," she put a rather sour twist to my name, "doesn't just sit with the Cullens from now on." This was the first time that I took notice of her voice – it was nasally and her inflections were unbecoming.

I tried not to react. Despite my internal misgivings, I gave her the benefit of doubt regarding her knowledge of her surroundings. Most teenagers weren't secure enough to voice that kind of sneer in the presence of their intended target. Moreover, I really didn't know the girl well. Neither of us had made much of an effort toward becoming acquainted. Even so, I was surprised by the level of malice in her tone.

Mike came to the rescue, "She's my friend," he hissed back at the silvery-haired minx. "She sits with us."

Normally, I would have felt more grateful to him. However, his territorial-sounding tone made me cringe. At this point, I really didn't care to hear any more of their discourse. I paused to let Jessica and Angela get ahead of me – pulling out my phone and glancing at the blank screen as an excuse.

When three o'clock finally rolled around, I was _very_ ready to get home. My detached mood hadn't brightened any and I was merely anxious to get away from the hubbub that always seemed to hover around teenagers. It wasn't that I was overtly objectionable to involving myself with my schoolmates – not really; it was more that I had begun to realize – following my frank afternoon discussion with Edward – that, despite my efforts to the contrary, there was a glaring disconnect between myself and the adolescents I was befriending. Not a single one of the teenagers I spent time with had even the smallest bit in common with me. Our tastes in music, art, literature, and a wide range of other subjects were completely different. Moreover, they'd all grown up in normal, happy, turn-of-the-century homes. I'd been familiar with loss since the day I was born.

Even so, I didn't intend to stop forging these friendships. I would just have to be more flexible.

It didn't help that, of all the people around me, Edward seemed to be the only person in my world who could truly relate to me on any level ….

Julia was in a chipper mood when she got home. She seemed generally enthused about my upcoming trip to La Push. Even going so far as to make suggestions about local attractions. It dawned on me that she might feel somewhat guilty about leaving me alone so often for work. I hoped that wasn't the case. I didn't mind being alone – in fact, I often preferred it. It gave me time to relax and let my guards down a bit. Ninety-odd years of constantly monitoring behavior so as to appear normal could take its toll.

As I sat there, eating the chicken fettuccini I'd made, I realized that I had yet to mention my plans to go to Seattle. The lawyer hadn't gotten back to me yet – something I took to mean would result in no in-person or teleconference meeting. Not that that much mattered. I had agreed to go with Edward. As such, I reasoned that it would be prudent to tell my guardian where I was going to be.

"Julia?"

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to let you know that I'm planning a day trip to Seattle a week from Saturday," I felt rude and demanding, so I tacked a submissive onto the end, "if that's all right with you."

She finished chewing, "Oh, all right. Did you need me to go with you?"

I tried to disguise a smirk. I hadn't mentioned going with Edward because I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what she thought on the matter. I knew she liked the Cullens but liking them and wanting their youngest son to spend time with me was another matter. Then again, she'd been more than willing to allow Edward and me privacy at the hospital …. Either way, I didn't want her thinking I had a date.

"No, I'll be fine." I knew Julia typically worked Saturdays – the curse of being Head Nurse. "I know it's short notice, so don't worry about it."

"Seattle's a big place, Lily …." She sounded worried.

I laughed, "I used to live in LA, Julia." I smiled warmly at her, "And I've got my cell and a map. I won't get lost – I'm not Alex." I winked at her. My adoptive father could get lost even with a GPS telling him where to go.

She laughed, "All right." She raised her fork to her mouth and paused, "You know, I'm not sure the T-Bird is up for a long trip right now. We should have a mechanic take a second look before you try to drive it that far."

"That's okay. I was planning on taking the Porsche, anyway. Alex would pitch a fit if he knew I'd left it idle for so long."

"Are you going to make it back for the dance?"

I stiffened. How did Julia know about the school dance? "I wasn't planning on it …."

She lowered her fork back to her plate and looked concerned, "Don't you want to go? I mean, I remember Alex mentioning that you liked dancing …."

"No … I mean, yes …." I paused and tried to orient my thoughts, "I _do_ like dancing. It's just …"

"Didn't anyone ask you?"

_Mon Dieu_! This I did not want to deal with, "It's a Sadie Hawkins dance, actually."

"Oh," she seemed a little mollified. "None of the boys in town catch your eye?"

I laughed, "I'm trying to focus on school right now."

I retreated to my room shortly thereafter. The mine field of romantic interest seemed to be behind us after mention of the dance, but Julia was a woman. I remember Steph's ability to make something out of nothing any time a boy happened to blink in my direction ….

I couldn't focus on homework – not that I really needed to focus to get the answers right. Overall, I just couldn't make my brain put in the effort of solving trigonometry problems. Instead, it seemed quite content to scamper off to musing about what Edward was doing.

This started out innocent enough. I'd see a brief flash of him and his burly brother hiking up some majestic mountainside out of a painting. Unfortunately, once I allowed my thoughts to linger on him, I found the aesthetically pleasing scenery behind them turning hazy. I was curious to know what the _actual_ landscape looked like. So, fully abandoning my studies, I moved over to my laptop and started up the substandard free dialup.

Five minutes later I was typing 'Goat Rocks' into my favorite search engine. After the page of results finally loaded, I realized that I had forgotten to select the image option. Therefore, the myriad of listings were a hodgepodge mix of newspaper clippings and random informational sites. The first listing caught my eye: "Ranger Fatally Mauled". Curious, I clicked open the site. The story was three paragraphs, only the first of which held any mention of 'Goat Rocks', and had been published the previous spring.

"Forest Rangers Robert Kindle and Leroy McClean, while performing routine patrols of hiker-frequented areas in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, were attacked by a grizzly bear on Sunday morning. McClean survived the incident with some broken bones and moderate cuts. Kindle, however, bore the brunt of the mauling and died before rescue personnel could respond to McClean's emergency call …."

I cringed. Bear attack was not on my list of things to experience. I clicked the story closed and scanned the other sites. Subjects conducive to bear attacks and sightings were most prominent. A few others – stemming from a Bureau of Wildlife website – cautioned hikers to avoid the reserve.

Suddenly, I was very confused. Edward and his family had lived in the area for two years. More so, they'd lived in Alaska before that. As such, they would be well aware of the dangers large predators posed to hikers and the like. That being the case, I couldn't see them carelessly risking their lives for a thrill hike through bear-infested wilderness. Maybe I'd simply heard Edward wrong. Maybe he hadn't said Goat Rocks …. I sincerely hoped he hadn't.

* * *

><p>I jerked awake at four fifty-two Saturday morning. The dreams were back to their original, amnesia-inductive state; leaving me sweaty, teary, and more exhausted than when I'd gone to sleep. Even the hot shower didn't alleviate the weariness. While brushing my teeth, I realized that I wasn't much in the mood to attend a teenaged outing at La Push. The problem? I didn't wish to seem rude by canceling on such short notice. Therefore, to the beach I would go; lack of sunny disposition – at least on my part – and all.<p>

In short order I gave up on morning prep. It wasn't like I was going to be spending time with anyone whom I would care to impress. I wandered into the kitchen intent on coffee or _something_ to distract me. It was still a couple hours before I needed to meet the rest of the kids at Newton's Outfitters and dwelling on the inevitable wasn't going to change the outcome.

Julia was leaning heavily against the counter next to the coffee machine, staring intensely at the tiny appliance and its stream of dark liquid.

"Morning," I grabbed a cup out of the cupboard and waited. I knew better than to try to grab a cup before she'd had hers.

"Morning. You're up early." The gurgle of the boiling water faded and the cascade of dark caffeine ceased. She grabbed the handle and filled her cup halfway before working her way to the fridge to get her creamer and sugar.

"Yeah. I've got that trip to the beach today." I filled my own cup and took it to the table.

"Oh, that's right. Don't forget," she sipped at the opulent concoction before continuing, "I need to drop my car off at Dowling's this morning to get that danged transmission looked at. And I got called in, so I'll also need you to be my carpool for work today."

"Okay." Suddenly, I realized that this adjustment was rather providential. I'd have to _follow_ the kids to the beach rather than carpool and so would be able to leave if I still felt I wasn't up to it without ruining the experience for everyone else. "I'll have my cell with me, so you can call me on that and I'll be there as soon as possible. Any idea when you'll be off?"

"Unfortunately, no. One of the nurses called in sick and we've got another who's been under the weather as well. Hopefully, I won't have to stay later than five or so."

For a fleeting instant, I considered offering her the Porsche. But, considering that she would be my departure excuse, I thought better of it. I'd make it up to her another day. Maybe we could drive to Portland in it one weekend ….

By nine-fifteen, I was following Julia's green four-door through the rarely dry streets of Forks toward the single mechanic shop in town. The bright yellow sun was foreign to my eyes – the weeks and weeks of gloomy mistiness having reduced my tolerance. I rode with the window down, doing my best to enjoy the mild temperatures. This was the first time since I'd arrived that I was able to wear my sunglasses outside – before I would have felt ridiculous. Shortly after nine-thirty I was dropping Julia off at the hospital and on my way to the rendezvous point.

When I pulled up, I spotted the congregation of people at the front of Mike's Suburban. The kids seemed to have polarized into gender groupings. Mike, Eric, and Tyler were standing with two other boys I recognized from classes – I think their names were Ben and Conner. Jessica, Angela, and Lauren were chatting with three other girls. As I exited my car, one of the girls – she was in my gym class – sneered and whispered something into Lauren's ear. Lauren turned and gave me a scornful look before proceeding to ignore me.

Mike, on the other hand, greeted me warmly and furtively eyed the passenger side until it was clear I hadn't brought anyone, "You came!"

"I told you I would," I reminded him.

"And I told you it was going to be sunny!"

"Yeah," I smiled up at the radiant sky. There were only the faintest traces of clouds on the horizon and hardly a breeze to be felt.

"We're waiting on Lee and Samantha – unless you invited someone." Mike looked both worried and hopeful.

I shook my head. I wasn't sure I'd be able to lie convincingly enough about not inviting someone else. Especially since I was furtively hoping that Edward would change his mind and show up anyway.

"Will you ride with me? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"Actually," I didn't like disappointing Mike. He was almost like a puppy – so happy to see me that I felt bad when I denied him anything. "Julia got called in and her car is stuck at Dowling's. I'm kind of her chauffeur today, so I might have to leave to go get her at a moment's notice."

Jessica meandered over as I spoke. Her expression had soured when she heard Mike's invitation. Now, however, it was elated as I explained that I would need to drive myself.

"That's too bad," she said.

"Yeah, okay." Mike frowned.

Within half an hour Lee and his friends – he'd brought two extra people I didn't recognize – had arrived and we were on our way to the beach stretching lengthwise along the coast of the tiny Quileute Reservation fifteen miles outside of the Forks town limits. Dense forest edged the highway broken only twice as the long Quileute River snaked lazily beneath the blacktop. The beach was pretty, though looked nothing like the beaches in California: pebble-strewn shoreline, cold, gray water, and large piles of washed up driftwood. Rocky islands rose sporadically out of the steel-gray waters, their sheer cliff-like sides casting dark shadows on the already gloomy surface and their summits crowned with austere firs. Pelicans drifted lazily on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle soared above them.

The lot of us lugged coolers, blankets, and entertainment necessities down to an arrangement of driftwood logs close to the tree-line. A stone-lined pit filled with the ashes of countless beachgoer bonfires took up considerable space in the center and several boys set to collecting dry branches for another one. Even though the sun was shining, every one of the kids had their jackets close by – apparently the weather could turn nasty quickly here.

I sat on one of the makeshift benches staring out over the rolling waves of the sea. The smell – salty and sweet – brought back lots of memories. The Mediterranean was bluer than the Pacific but the air held that same heaviness. In Santa Cruz, I'd often keep my window open at night so that the breeze off the constantly moving water would fill my room. The subdued hues of blue and brown here seemed almost a mockery of the beaches I was used to. But, then again, this held its own charm. One I could grow accustomed to. The muted shades of lilac, blue, green, gold, and white were present in the stones of the shore, lending a Monet-like quality to the picturesque landscape.

"Hey, Lily," Mike said as he arranged piles of wood in the fire pit into a teepee-like construction. "Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" He lit the end of a straggly branch with a cigarette lighter and poked the flaming torch into the pit at random.

"Yeah, a few times." I smiled as he lit the branches afire. The flames were blue – the salt bringing the fire to a higher temperature than normal wood. It was always mesmerizing – magical even. When I'd been a child, I would pretend that driftwood fires were the work of faeries. It had been a pleasant fantasy.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" He moved to sit next to me on the driftwood bench.

"Quite."

Jessica, sitting on Mike's other side quickly claimed his attention.

There were two main attractions – besides the beach – on the Quileute Reservation; the tide pools and the Reservation General Store. The tide pools were a short hike up the beach and through the trees. The General Store was a few minutes' walk up the road. I wasn't too interested in the store – after you've seen Rodeo Drive there wasn't much left to see. The tide pools, on the other hand, sounded fascinating – even more so when Lauren and the other snotty girl announced that they didn't want to hike to them because there weren't wearing the right shoes.

Mike was heading the excursion and, after the girls' proclamation, I quietly got up and joined the pro-hiking group. The fifteen minute hike wound us along the coast and into the fringe of trees surrounding the rocky shore. I hated to lose sight of the sun by going into the trees. However, rock-climbing wasn't the safest activity – particularly alone. Instead, I stuck close to Angela as we followed the hyperactive boys through the green cover.

We reached the pools shortly after low tide set in. I hadn't ever seen the like. Hundreds of tiny catch-pools were filled to overflow by the cold water, their depths swarming with various types of marine-life. As I watched a lone black eel with a white racing stripe swim round-and-round its temporary prison, I clearly remembered Edward's furtive plea for me to be safe. Therefore, out of respect for his request, I perched myself on a boulder overlooking several pools and watched the wildlife – both marine and humanoid. Many of the kids were fearless when it came to the pools – leaping from edge to edge without concern for falling in. I was spellbound by the natural aquarium beneath me. There were fish of every size, shape, and color swimming around, waiting for freedom while starfish clung furtively to the rocky sides of their pools.

Less than an hour after arriving, the clouds began to roll in. The sky resumed its hazy grayish-blue hue and the water darkened further. It seemed the sun had finished its all-too-brief visit.

It's funny how the weather and boys' stomachs were on the same timing schedule. The overcast had barely set in when they started complaining about being hungry. We hiked back through the trees to where the coolers full of food were waiting. When we came within visual range, I noticed that the ragtag grouping of teenagers had grown. From the dark hair and skin of the newcomers, I realized that they must be kids from the reservation come to socialize.

Those who had remained behind had already raided the coolers. Mike, Ben, Conner, and Lee made a beeline for the blue and white plastic containers while Jessica, Angela, and I hung back out of the way. It was almost like watching a shark attack on television – the boys circling around the coolers randomly snagging something from their icy confines. Once in the clear, the rest of us made our way over to see what remnants were left. I wasn't particularly hungry – I never seemed to be anymore – but I grabbed a bologna and cheese sandwich and a soda anyway. Then I looked around for a place to sit.

The first thing I noticed was the dark, hard eyes of the eldest Indian boy. They were difficult to miss as he was staring right at me with an intensity that made me uneasy. I worried that I might have gained yet _another_ unwanted admirer.

Introductions were ongoing as I followed Angela to the opposite side of the fire from the older boy. The only name of consequence I caught was his: Sam Uley. As I ate I tried to keep from looking in his direction – and failed miserably. At first, I'd mistaken his intensity for interest. Now, however, I was reevaluating. The longer he stared at me the more uncomfortable I became. His gaze was too intent and carried an undertone of malice. For some reason completely unfathomable to me, I felt as though he _hated_ me.

I caught myself before I let out a derisive snort. What _was_ it with boys in this part of the country? They seemed to either fall head over heels in love with me from first sight or they despised me!

I ate in silence, trying my best to ignore the probative stare aimed at me. I'd been sitting like that, staring at the blue flames for a while when things began to change. Food was consumed and a majority of my classmates were dividing to set out on other excursions – some to the general store and others back to the tide pools. I was growing very nervous about the strangely hostile man – I'd noticed during stolen glances that not only was he older than the other Quileute kids but also than most of my comrades. I was half-convinced it was time to simply leave the beach. If this man didn't want me around, perhaps I should respect his wishes ….

One of the other local boys – a younger one with long straight black hair and deep brown eyes – came over to chat with me, "You're Lily Howard, aren't you?"

I suppressed a groan. I'd come to loathe that phrase in my first weeks at Forks High. "Yeah," I wasn't feeling particularly chatty but being polite was more important.

He stuck out his hand, "I'm Jacob Black."

I shook it, smiling vaguely.

"You're Julia's niece, right?"

I was taken aback. How did this kid know Julia? "Yeah. How did you know …?"

"She's a good family friend. She helped nurse my dad after his accident."

"Oh, okay." I brightened slightly. Perhaps he was being cordial because of our mutual connection to Julia. I could handle that. Then I recognized the name. An older man had called the house once asking to speak to Julia. I remembered that his last name had been Black. "You're … Billy's son?"

"Yeah, that's right." He smiled.

"Nice to meet you," I meant this a little more now.

Unfortunately, the smile that split his face was a little too appreciative for my liking.

_Great_. I was a little uncomfortable speaking to him knowing what his undercover motives were.

"Lily," Lauren called my name from across the fire pit and I looked up automatically. Her tone should have warned me but I was anxious for a distraction.

It was then that Lauren cemented her residence on my list of Least Favorite People. She seemed to somehow sense my discomfort in talking to Jacob and decided to increase it.

"I was just saying to Tyler that it's really too bad that none of the _Cullens_," undue emphasis on the name, "could make it out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?"

I glowered. I still didn't understand _what_ the girl's issue was. I hadn't said more than a handful of words to her since we'd met; certainly not enough for her to harbor this kind of resentment toward me.

Her well-aimed jab was derailed by the unfriendly elder Quileute boy however, "You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" There was a strange significance he added to the name.

Lauren turned her sneeringly, pointed face to glare at him, "Yes. Do you know them?"

He very pointedly looked at me, "The _Cullens_ don't come here." His tone was harsh, making the statement a proclamation of fact rather than a mere observation. It implied that not only were they _unwelcome_ but it made it sound as though they were somehow forbidden. Moreover, it seemed to encompass not only the beach but the Reservation in general.

My mind clung to this last deduction. Why would the Cullens be denied access to the Reservation? What could these natives have against Dr. Cullen and his family?

Tyler, seeming to sense the tense nature of the conversation, quickly claimed Lauren's attention by asking her about a CD he held.

Everyone else, however, seemed oblivious. Even the other Quileute locals didn't understand the exchange the way I did. The intensity of the man-child's glare made it quite clear that he also considered _me_ to be unwelcome. It was time to get out of here – party-pooper or not.

I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pressed the button on the side of my phone which increased the ringer volume. The device played the tone at the new volume and I excused myself from Jacob's company to walk a few yards away from the makeshift camp, pretending to talk to Julia. The one-sided conversation took less than a minute. When I was done with my play-acting, I returned to the group and addressed Angela, who was still sitting on the driftwood bench.

"Hey, Angela. Julia needs me to pick her up so I have to go." I pulled my face into a semblance of disappointment – no point in letting them know I was purposefully running away.

"Oh, sure. I'll tell Mike and Jessica." Angela smiled warmly at me and waved, "Drive safe."

"Thank you."

I quickly made my way back up the rocky beach to my car. As I retreated, I could _feel_ the inhospitable gaze of the man on my back. Its presence forced me to speed my pace. The warning bells were going off full-volume in my head. There was something wrong here – very wrong.

My anxiety didn't help my navigation. I was in such a rush to get away from _him_ that I wasn't paying attention with which direction I turned when I left the lot. Nothing looked familiar and I couldn't seem to find the main road out of the reservation. I drove around in what felt like circles for a good ten minutes before I calmed down enough to pull over. My heart was still racing but I couldn't seem to pacify it. I realized that I was lost. _How_ I had managed to get lost on the back roads of this back-wood Reservation was beyond me but that didn't change the fact that I was.

I scrambled around in my glove box looking for a map but there didn't seem to be one. Taking a deep breath, I tried to think. What else could I do? I could ask directions … if I ever came back to civilization ….

My phone. The service I paid for came with GPS navigation. Pulling the device from a pocket I hit the center button and looked at the screen. Unfortunately, my panicky flight had placed me somewhere where my reception was minimal at best. The long bar of signal faded in and out depending upon where in the car I held the phone. I knew that the metal frame of the car couldn't be helping my plight.

With resignation, I opened the door and got out, my left hand held aloft toward the barely visible sky and the sure-to-be-present cell signal. I closed the door automatically.

_Allons!_ I thought as I rose up on my tiptoes trying to find a reliable signal. I tilted the little black box from side to side, stretching as far as I could toward the looming treetops.

My eyes were glued to the tiny luminescent screen. I was so intent on my missing bars that I broke the first rule of survival: Be aware of your surroundings.

The sharp snap of a dry twig sounded from a few feet behind me. My defensive instincts kicked in as I whirled to face the noise – hoping to see a startled rabbit or deer scampering off into the foliage. I wasn't so lucky.

My eyes were instantly drawn upwards to those of a man. Recognition was immediate. It was the antagonistic man from the beach – Sam Uley. My hand tightened over the phone I now clenched in it. Why was he following me? More disturbing – how had he kept up with me on foot?

Before I could react more than that, I heard the crunch of approaching feet from my right. Shifting my eyes, I spotted another boy – one I hadn't seen at the beach – stalking out of the dense forest just ahead of the driver's side door of my car.

With sudden shock and fear, I realized that neither of the boys was fully clothed – their sole article of clothing was a pair of tattered pants which left their torsos and feet bare. My mind jumped to the obvious conclusion – they meant to rape and kill me. I felt an instinctive growl rise from somewhere deep within my throat. I wouldn't go down easily. These boys – big as they were – hadn't chosen a wise target.

As I took in their aggressive stance – attempting to gauge which would come at me first – I heard the sound of yet more people arriving. This time, the rhythmic swishing of tires on wet pavement preceded the entrance. I rotated so my back was against the closed door of my car and did my best to keep an eye on the Uley boy. A battered red truck pulled into view ahead of my parked car.

A small knot of hope lodged itself in my chest as I realized there were two elderly men in the cab. My panic subsided slightly as the ancient behemoth groaned to a stop some yards ahead of my hood. These two others wouldn't act if there were witnesses.

Seeking the protections of numbers, I drop-spun on my heel and used every ounce of strength and speed I could summon to reach the men in the truck. At the moment, I didn't care _what_ the others saw – a blur, a Herculean sprint, it didn't matter. I was intent on getting to safety.

I realized, too late, that the old men in the vehicle weren't the safe haven I'd been hoping for. The driver flung open his door as soon as I started moving and aimed a shotgun at my head.

Newly terrified – I'm sure a shotgun worked the same on me as it did on normal people – I skidded to a halt. What in the _Hell_ was going on?

The unfamiliar boy moved swiftly over to the passenger side of the truck, yanked a collapsible wheelchair from the back, erected it, and helped the second elderly man into it without saying anything. When I got a good look, I realized that neither of the men was as old as I'd first thought – in their mid-to-late fifties.

Still focused on the – presumably – loaded barrel pointed directly at me, I jumped when I heard the familiar voice of Sam Uley close behind me, "You shouldn't be here." His tone was cold and authoritative.

Without thought I dropped into a defensive crouch – something I'd perfected in my time in Italy – and backed away from him. Despite his menacing presence and tone I couldn't keep my eyes off the gun pointed at me.

"You've violated the treaty …," he continued.

"Treaty?" The word was little more than a hysterical chirp. _What was he talking about?_

He sneered derisively, "Your coven should have warned you about not coming to La Push."

"Look," I tried to sound confident, "I have no _idea_ what you're talking about. I think you've mistaken me for …."

The second boy lurched toward me slightly, a strange noise emanating from his throat, "Don't treat us like idiots, Leech! We can _smell_ you!"

_Smell me?_ I didn't know it was possible to be more confused. However, now I was. What did he mean 'smell me'?

"Look, I didn't mean any harm. Please, I'm just trying to get home," I raised my palms upward in a surrendering gesture, "and I _really_ don't know what you're talking about."

"Shut up you filthy bloodsucker! You parasite!" The second boy was visibly shaking with anger now.

Suddenly, I understood. These people thought I was a _vampire_! It took a second before I could organize my thoughts enough to question how these isolated people even _knew_ about vampires in the first place – let alone that they were _real_.

My baffled silence seemed to have been taken to mean something more than I intended. Sam Uley and his younger companion began moving toward me.

I was terrified for my life. I hadn't the slightest notion of what these people would do to someone they thought was a vampire – staking and burning crossed my mind in vivid, gory splendor and I fought back the urge to vomit. Without thinking, I blurted out the one thing rolling around and around inside my head. "Wait! I'm not a vampire!"

This gave the Uley boy pause.

The other one, however, was well beyond reason, "Liar!" The end of his word was morphed into a deep-throated hackles-raising growl. His shaking intensified and his eyes focused on my face.

"Paul! No!" Sam's voice barely registered in the back of my mind.

With a great shuddering roll the boy before me exploded in a flurry of fur. One instant there had been a barely-clad teenager standing there. In the next, remnants of denim pants were scattered across the road and a gigantic grey wolf was crouched to spring where the boy had been.

For a split second my mind tried to rationalize what I'd seen. It just couldn't. I felt it coming before it happened – the loss of consciousness. My only solace in fainting would be that I would be unable to feel it when the monstrous beast began to rip me apart ….

* * *

><p>Every single centimeter of my body ached. That must have been what had woken me; the constant throbbing, clenching sensation of overexertion. Though I was conscious, I didn't open my eyes. Considering the soreness of the rest of me, I could only imagine how painful light would be. Breathing cautiously – I wasn't sure the tense feeling in my chest would allow it to expand enough for a lung-full – I realized that the air smelled differently than I would have expected. A heavy, musky scent pervaded the air and there was something more, hovering just beneath the surface. It reminded me of the odor that wafted off the fur of most dogs. Where was I?<p>

I blinked open my eyes – yup, the light hurt. I was in a very small room I didn't recognize. The walls were wood-paneled and the twin bed I was lying on took up a vast majority of the available space. The door – a cheap plywood fabrication – stood open but all I could see was a white wall beyond it.

I sat up, intent on getting a better look at my surroundings. However, a sharp sting reverberated from the palms of both my hands and I hissed air in through my teeth as I looked down to determine the source. A large square of medical gauze was taped across the heel of each palm. This didn't make any sense to me. Why would I need to be bandaged …?

With a nearly physical jolt, the last few seconds of memory flooded back to me. I'd _seen_ a boy _transform_ into a _wolf_!

My breathing accelerated and a feeling of nausea swept over me. In all my long, _long_ years I had come to accept the existence of vampires – I hadn't had any choice after Italy. Yet, in all that time, I had never even _considered_ the possibility that other legends, other terrors might also be real.

I didn't realize that there had been a hushed conversation taking place outside my room until its absence registered in my mind. It was a few seconds before someone appeared in my doorway. I saw the feet first, held aloft by the metal footrests of a wheelchair. When finally the disabled man filled the doorway, I recognized him from the roadside standoff.

Still in shock, I cringed away from him. He'd witnessed the same thing I had and, yet, he seemed completely at ease. Did that mean he _knew_, too?

"It's all right, Miss. I won't hurt you." His deep voice was full of wisdom and it was clear he was making an effort to stem the edge of authority it normally held.

"You're not the one I'm worried about," I pressed myself against the wall as I glanced over his head.

The man grimaced, "We need to talk."

"All right," I pulled my knees up and took note of where the window was in the room. If he was even remotely paraplegic, I would be able to get through the window before he could react. "Talk."

His frown was quickly forced into neutrality and he made a beckoning gesture as he pulled his chair out of the doorway, "Out here, please."

I eyed him suspiciously. I was comfortable in here because I knew where the exits were. If I went out there, I would have no idea where things would be.

My hesitancy registered with him, "You won't be harmed. You have my word."

"That might mean a little more, if I knew who you were." In my experience, complete strangers rarely had any sense of honor.

He nodded sagely, "I'm Billy Black."

My jaw fell open. Julia's friend, Billy? If that was true ….. "You're Jacob's father."

I had no idea where that came from. What did it matter that he was Jacob's father? I'd only met the boy this morning.

"Yes." He moved back further and the handlebars of his wheelchair knocked against the far wall, "Please."

I was stupefied and got to my feet without thinking. Now that I was on them, I figured it would look weak to sink back to the bed. Cautiously, always keeping my eyes on Billy, I maneuvered out into the hall.

The term was a stretch considering that the wall I saw outside the door was little more than four feet long. At the end, I could see the living room, the dining room and kitchen – crushed into an undersized space – and, most importantly, the front door and windows.

There were two men sitting at the kitchen table – Sam Uley and the gun-wielding truck driver from earlier. The 'wolf man' was conspicuously absent.

I edged toward the door, keeping my face to the three men as I did so.

Billy motioned toward the table, "Please take a seat. We need to talk ...," he let the end trail off, obviously fishing for my name.

I eyed the proffered chair. It was closest to me and therefore to the door. However, it was closer in proximity to them and I wasn't comfortable with that. Not wishing to appear flighty – that tended to encourage predators – I stepped forward, pulled the chair a good two feet from the table, and sat down in it.

"Lily. And I'm listening." _In more ways than one!_

"First, we owe you an apology," Billy said, looking around at the others, "For putting you through … that ordeal."

I raised an eyebrow but remained quiet. I assumed 'that ordeal' referred to the cornering and forced witness of an inhuman transformation.

"Yes. We," the Uley boy started but, upon receiving a _look_ from Billy, switched his statement. "I mistook you for something you weren't."

"A vampire." I wasn't asking. I was stating.

He nodded, "Yes, and I'm sorry about that. However, now we're in a bit of a predicament. You see, _normal_," he put emphasis on the adjective, "people aren't supposed to know about us."

"Us?" I eyed him suspiciously. If he changed into a wolf as well, I was going to have a full-on conniption fit.

"Yes, about the tribe …," he continued.

"The _Tribe_?" I sat up as straight as I could and looked from Uley to the older men. "Everyone in the _tribe_ can … do that?"

Billy and the other older man shook their heads but it was Billy who spoke, "No. Only a select few can transform."

I relaxed slightly but not much. At least I didn't have to worry about a good three hundred people fifteen miles from my home running around as gigantic wolves every full moon.

Uley picked up, "Like I said, normal people aren't supposed to know about us. However, you seem to already have some … knowledge about things you shouldn't."

I remained quiet.

"Vampires, for example." He pressed.

I nodded but didn't speak. I didn't bother asking how _they_ knew about vampires – mythical creatures must all already _know_ about the existence of the others ….

Uley's gaze fluctuated to my wrist and I realized, for the first time, that the shirt I wore had the long sleeves pushed up my forearms. That must have been done when they bandaged my hands.

"A strangely _complete_ knowledge about vampires, in fact." His eyes returned to mine.

Now I had to speak. I didn't want him speculating and there was no disguising the extent of my _knowledge_.

"Yes, I've encountered them before."

"And you survived," he said looking again at my wrist, "relatively unharmed. Most don't."

I cringed, "I'm sure."

"How did you …," he started.

"I would really prefer not to talk about that. It's painful, as I'm sure you understand." I rolled my sleeves down and crossed my arms over my chest. At least they hadn't seen the marks on my shoulder ….

He looked as though he was going to press the matter, so I decided I'd better head him off.

"What I'm more interested in is what I saw on the side of the road today." I placed significance in my tone.

Uley sighed but it was Billy who answered me, "Yes, as to that …." He looked at Uley who nodded solemnly before continuing, "How much do you know about us – the Quileutes, I mean."

"Nothing at all, really." _Besides the fact that some of you turn into enormous beasts!_

"The story is a little … involved. You see, our legends tell us that we are descended from warriors whose spirits could leave their physical forms. One of these warriors …."

I held up my hand in a stopping gesture, "I really don't think I could handle the history lesson, at the moment. Could we stick with the basics?"

Billy nodded, "All right, short version. Our ancestors are what your people call werewolves. From the beginning of our transformation we had only one natural enemy, the Cold Ones – vampires." He paused to see that I was taking in the information.

I nodded and motioned for him to continue – vampires and werewolves were mortal enemies, got it.

"The boys of our tribe who can transform are direct descendants of the very first werewolf – Taha'achi. It is their sacred duty to patrol our lands and kill any vampires that trespass."

I nodded again. My mind had started wandering. The werewolves must have had a reason for thinking that I was a vampire – what could that be? Considering I didn't physically resemble the ones I had met – my eyes weren't blood red and my skin didn't look like theirs – I didn't understand what it was about me that had triggered recognition.

Abruptly my mind reached a conclusion whose points had been vaguely unclear to me before the reveal. The only reason the werewolves would be weary of vampires trespassing on their land was if vampires were actually _around_ to do so.

"Are there vampires in the area?" I spoke without thinking. There was no relish in the idea, considering my background.

Billy looked over at Uley who glanced tensely at me. The three men fell into a fluid language I didn't understand – Quileute, I assumed.

"Are there?" I wanted an answer, though my mind was still working at top speed.

"The patrols are always made – whether vampires are in the area or not." Billy assured me.

That wasn't an answer. Something Uley had said at the roadside came floating back to me. Something about violating a treaty; about how a coven should have warned against crossing into Quileute land …. Why would werewolves make a treaty with vampires if they were mortal enemies?

"Before – on the road – you," I looked at Uley, "said something about violating the 'Treaty'. What treaty?"

"That's not really important," Billy started.

Uley, however, took charge, "Enough. She knows already. The wolf's out of the bag now. We may as well fill her in." He looked pointedly at his companions, "She already knows they exist and, considering the bite, she has a right to know."

One at a time the elder men nodded their agreement.

Uley turned back to me, "Nearly one hundred years ago, Billy's grandfather was a member of the Quileute pack – leader, in fact. When they were out on patrol, they came across a large coven of vampires crossing Quileute land. The pack was largely outnumbered and the vampires had no reason to refrain from fighting, but their leader spoke to Ephraim like he was human. The leader claimed that his coven was different from others; that they survived only on the blood of animals. The civility of these yellow-eyes testified to the truth behind his words. Ephraim, not wishing to waste the lives of his pack fighting a doomed battle against these creatures, agreed to a treaty with the leader. The coven would stay off Quileute land and we would never reveal their existence to the white-folk."

'Yellow-eyes' was all I needed to connect the rest of the dots floating around inside my head. I nearly hyperventilated when I realized that the reason I'd been getting random uneasy feelings around Edward and the other Cullens was because _they_ were vampires! It took me a very long time to realign the data in my mental list. Everything fit. Why hadn't I seen this before?

Uley seemed to realize that I had figured out more from his story than he'd intended. The expression on his face clearly stated that this was a bigger problem than my mere knowledge of the werewolves' existence had been.

Uley's face hardened into resolve and he crossed his arms over his massive chest, "I take it you think you've made some grand discovery."

"No, I don't think anything." His suddenly hostile demeanor made me nervous.

"Well, you see, we can't let you just go around telling everyone our secrets." His gaze shifted again to my arms crossed over my chest.

"What?" I was confused. Who would I tell? Who would believe me?

"You see, I think it's time we came to an arrangement."

"Arrangement?"

"Yes. You see, you'll be keeping your new knowledge to yourself because, if you don't, I'd be more than happy to tell everyone about _you_."

I was indignant at first, and then the significance of his threat sank in.

"What do you mean?" I had a _very_ good idea but I wanted to know what he thought he knew.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" He placed his hands on the table and stood, "I know you're not human."

"Excuse …," I tried to look shocked. How much did his otherworldly knowledge tell him about me?

"Your brush with vampires," he pointedly looked at my left wrist, "has changed you. I don't know to what extent, exactly, but I _know _you're different."

"That …," I tried to say that his threats weren't necessary, but he didn't stop talking.

"You're faster than a normal person – that little sprint you made proved that." He waited.

I felt as though he'd physically slapped me.

"Fine." My tone was scathing. I stood, "And, just so you know, I wasn't going to _tell_ anyone anyway. No one in their right mind would believe me and, even if I wanted to, doing so would place me under speculation as well. _Normal_ people don't go around talking about mythical creatures."

"Good." Uley stood up straight.

Now that I'd given my word, I was quite intent on leaving. I had more than enough to handle already and I needed time to think – though, deep down, I wanted, more than anything, to simply forget what I'd learned. I had no _idea_ where on the Reservation I was and, overall, I wasn't particularly keen on the prospect of driving around until I got lost again. I might run into _undead_ next ….

"One other thing," Billy said, finally breaking the silence.

I glared dolefully at him. What more did they want from me?

"I recognize the name and your voice. You're living with Julia Howard, aren't you?"

I tensed, "Yes. She's my aunt."

He nodded and glanced to my scar, "Is that how Alex really died?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm adopted."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, "She's a good friend to a lot of people out here, you understand?"

He was warning me again to keep my mouth shut. Blabbing could cause something to happen to Julia.

I stiffened, "Yes." I was angry now. How _dare_ he threaten Julia! Then, as I glared, I realized his deeper meaning. Harm to Julia wouldn't come from the Quileute werewolves. It would come from another source ….

"I'd like to go home, now." I was cold through and through.

"I'll see you to the edge of the Reservation," Uley offered.

I wasn't too keen on this either but 'better the monster you know', right? I nodded and he led me outside. My T-Bird was parked behind the ancient red Chevy and my keys had been left in the ignition.

The drive through the claustrophobic streets was somber. Uley spoke only to provide directions. Five minutes into the drive my cell phone rang in my pocket. I pulled the device out and glanced at the caller id – it was Julia.

Uley's eyes were on me as I answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey, hun, it's me. I'm getting off work in about half an hour. Can you come pick me up?" Julia sounded happy, unconcerned.

"Yeah, sure. I'll leave right now."

"Okay, see you in a bit. Drive safe." She hung up before I did.

The carefree concerns of everyday life seemed foreign to me, all of a sudden. I'd spent the majority of the afternoon fully engulfed in the terrifying realm of nightmares and monsters. Somehow, I knew that I'd be fine, given enough time. I'd overcome the tortures of Hell already and I'd managed to come out relatively normal … relatively.

"I'll get out here," Uley's voice broke through my reverie.

I pulled over to the shoulder and he exited my car.

Before closing the door, he leaned in, giving me a dulcet look, "We'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you uphold your end of our bargain." Then, before I could respond, he slammed my door and was trotting off the road into the tree-line.

I drove the entire way to the hospital with the radio blasting. The thundering beats shook the frame and reverberated within my head, preventing all other thought. When Julia got in, I conceded to lowering the volume but tried to avoid conversation. She asked about the beach and I told her I had a good time – I had … until after the tide pools.

When we got home, it was nearly dark. Still wishing to avoid conversation, I excused myself to take a shower. The strange dog-smell lingered in my hair and clothes. I wanted nothing that would remind me of the afternoon I spent on the Reservation. The hot water ran out before I exited the bathroom. Julia was sitting in the living room watching television and looking concerned.

"I'm going to bed," I announced, hair wrapped turban-style in a towel.

"Are you feeling all right, Lily?" Julia asked.

"I'm just tired. Haven't been that social in a while," I lied.

"Okay. Goodnight." Julia still looked worried. I'd have to lock my door tonight.

The instant my bedroom door was closed behind me, I turned the lock into place. Next I found my headphones and connected them to my iPod. I put the buds into my ears and used the clicker to select a random audio book before turning the volume all the way up. My goal was to lose myself in someone else's mind so that I didn't have to spend time inside my own – the confines of which seemed to be grossly overpopulated by the impossible.

Sometime during the fifth chapter of Frank Herbert's Dune I fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Decisions

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own_Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:**I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Now that Lily knows what the Cullens are - what EDWARD is - and she knows about the wolves, what is she going to do about it? Well, read and find out! You'll learn a TON more about Lily's past in this chapter.  
>NOTE: There are references to violence and both physical and emotional torture in this chapter. You have been warned ...<p>

Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7:<strong>

My chest heaved as I took the next corner at a run, impractical shoes slipping on the wet cobblestones. I was cursing myself as I tried to figure out where I was. The streets of Cambridge had been so familiar to me at one time. Now, however, it seemed as though I couldn't recognize a single landmark. If I could just get to a main street, I could hail a cab and then I wouldn't be as traceable. I might be able to lose _him_ long enough to get back to my apartment. I'd have to leave, I knew that already, but at least I could get some things before I fled.

A brief blurring movement ahead startled me and I skidded to a halt. In the light of the streetlamp on the corner stood a man. I dodged into the alleyway on my right and peaked around the wall at him. His face was turned away so I couldn't make out his features. His skin glittered strangely under the light and his head of hair shone like fire.

I let out a grateful breath, thinking he hadn't heard my hasty retreat. It was then that he turned and looked at me.

Edward's eyes were dark black and his perfect features were pulled into a cynical sneer, "Peek-a-boo."

I abandoned my voyeurism and retreated down the alleyway, hoping that it would lead out onto a crowded street somewhere.

I wasn't so lucky. After a quick left, I found myself at a dead end. When I turned to go the other direction, Edward was standing at the fork. The moonlight streaming down from between the buildings lent an utterly sinister shadowing to his already pale skin.

He smiled a mockingly sweet smile and motioned me forward, "Now, now. There's no need for this." He took a step forward, "You and I both know what's coming."

I glanced around, futilely looking for a door, a window, anything that might provide escape. There were none.

His voice – tantalizingly alluring despite his words – drew my attention to his face again, "Lily."

I gasped when I realized that Edward was standing right in front of me. I tried to back up, but his hands came up and gripped my upper arms gently and yet firmly enough to keep me in place.

"There's no point in fighting, Lily. It'll all be over in a minute and, who knows, maybe it won't even hurt."

He inclined his head to my neck and I felt the cold whisper of his breath on my skin before the hard marble of his lips ….

* * *

><p>"No!"<p>

The exclamation was loud but the swift jerking motion of sitting straight up had cut it short. My room was softly illuminated by the faint glow of early morning light streaming around the edges of the curtains. As I registered that I was in my bedroom in Forks rather than on the cold streets of Cambridge, England, I forcibly calmed my breathing. It was just a dream.

Slowly, other things came into focus. The even narration of Dune was still audible through the sole earphone hanging in my right ear. I quickly turned off the book and placed my iPod on the nightstand. The next thing I realized was how cold I was. Sometime in the middle of the night I had tossed the covers off the bed.

I shivered and understood that it was more than the chilly temperatures that caused it. Despite everything I'd tried, my mind had dredged up the exact thoughts I'd been avoiding. Now I would have to face facts. Edward was a vampire ….

Even thinking this caused a cringe. My rational brain didn't want to acknowledge this – didn't want to acknowledge the existence of vampires in the first place. However, that small minority had been beaten down into submission through extensive real-world experience to the contrary. It tried, nevertheless, to rationalize away the brief flash of the werewolf transformation I'd seen. However, that, too, was quickly quashed. No amount of logical deduction could explain that witness away.

Unable to completely change subjects, I set to wondering about what other nightmare creatures could be inspired by real-life monsters. Undead, banshees, hags? Was every mythical legend in the world somehow based in fact? If so, how was it that they managed to stay hidden from the vast majority of the human population? Surely not everything could pass for human so easily ….

As I pulled the blankets off the floor, my mind provided an unwelcome flashback. _His_ face loomed before me – blood red eyes, cruel, goading smile, pristine white teeth, and strangely veined skin, haloed by a wash of long, straight black hair. The cotton sheets slipped through my suddenly slack hands and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

Even in my worst recollections I usually avoided seeing _him_. It was as much a defensive mechanism as my whirling crouch had been. That … _thing_ … had caused me more pain in more ways than _anyone_ should ever have to endure!

I had to remind myself to breathe. Passing out could yield the opposite of oblivion. I might dream about my time in Italy ….

Leaving the covers and the floor, I rushed to the bathroom. The nagging, empty feeling had sharpened into full-blown nausea. I leaned over the toilet, heaving dryly – strangely both grateful and remiss about the lack of food in my stomach. When at last the queasiness had passed, I collapsed onto the tile floor and leaned heavily against the side of the tub, gasping.

Following this line of thought was bad for my health – both mental and physical. Once I could safely stand, I turned on the water in the tub and stripped off my frosty pajamas.

When at last I emerged from the bathroom, Julia's car was gone. In an effort to distract myself, I set to cleaning. Unfortunately, Julia was a particularly clean person. None of the rooms were so bad as to take me longer than a few minutes to clean.

While scrubbing the walls of the fireplace to remove smoke stains, the smell threw me back into memories.

* * *

><p>The sound of her scream woke me from a deep sleep. I sat up, trying to see in the limited moonlight streaming through the room's window. I clutched the sheets to my chest as I listened to the noise beyond my door. Marie's scream was cut short and I never heard François. The boys, though, I did hear. Philippe's voice rang out as he tried to stop whoever entered their room. I heard Ames start crying and Martin scream. I never heard a peep from Jacques – that boy could sleep through cannon-fire, I was sure.<p>

I heard the footfalls before the door opened and I scrambled to place my back against the wall. This town was unfamiliar and I wasn't sure anyone else in the Inn had heard the commotion. Two large men came through the door. I couldn't see their faces or even their clothes. Dark cloaks obscured them from me.

I opened my mouth to scream as the first one lunged for me. He hit me with the force of a runaway train and the wind was knocked out of me before I could make a sound. Terrified beyond reason I could feel the strange, painful pressure I occasionally experienced fill my head. Without conscious thought, I pushed the force out of my head, causing the air around me to shockwave. From the ceiling above us, one of the supporting beams creaked loudly and cracked in half, collapsing the roof. Everything went black as the man and I were trapped under the rubble. I was quickly losing consciousness – my head felt sticky with warm wetness.

Pain was the next thing I knew – pain like none I could have ever imagined. It felt as though I was being burned from the inside out – radiating from my left wrist. I think I screamed, but I was so lost to the agony that I couldn't be sure.

The pain went on for what seemed an eternity. When it finally ceased, I was lying naked on a cold, stone floor in the dark. Every muscle in my body ached and my throat was hoarse from the screaming I must have done. My hair was caked with dried blood but I didn't feel the wound that had yielded it. The first thing I saw after the pain stopped was _his_ face smiling down at me ….

* * *

><p>I jerked out of the reminiscence, hitting the back of my head on the top of the fireplace opening. There were tears in my eyes and my wrist was tingling with remembered pain. When I breathed, I could feel the scratch of once-present hoarseness.<p>

This was the first time since I'd escaped that I had _remembered_ my capture. I had lost everything that night; my family, my freedom … my life.

This was all those werewolves' fault! If they hadn't pegged me for a vampire I wouldn't be facing these memories again! I'd done extremely well over the last fifty years in compartmentalizing my past. I accepted the facts without dwelling on the acquisition. Now, however, my world view had been horribly skewed once again.

As I sat there, fuming about my shattered illusion of reality, it dawned on me that I would never be the same. Like it had on that fateful night in the summer of 1918, my knowledge of the world around me had been forcibly expanded by witnessed events. No matter what I did, I would always have this knowledge. It would forever shape my actions and views from now on.

A chill ran down my spine and I dropped the ashy rag into the bucket of water on the hearth. Everything had changed.

As I sat on the wood floor starting unseeingly at the ash-covered brick of the fireplace walls other memories came back to me.

* * *

><p>Every time I woke, <em>he<em> was there. At first, I'd been frightened only of the unholy color of _his_ eyes and the cold horror that was _his _touch. After the first waking, I'd been given a raggedy shift to wear. That didn't stop _him _from assaulting me, however. Icy hands drifted over every inch of my skin as _he_ questioned me. There was nothing remotely illicit behind _his_ touch – I might have accepted it better, if there had been. It was clinical, almost scientific in its methodology.

I don't know how long _he_ followed this routine before the other was invited. The young-looking white-haired one was even colder in presence than _he _was. Every time that one looked at me I could _see_ the hate, the lust. I was more frightened by that one's hostility than by the invasive examination of _him_.

It was because of the young-one that my greatest torture was introduced. Until then, I never understood what it was that _he_ wanted from me. _His_ questions were uttered in my native tongue; however the other refused to speak so that I could understand. I recognized Italian but I was not fluent in it. Shortly after _his_ experiment began, the young-one became agitated. They argued – though _he_ hardly raised his voice. I stayed very still, not understanding what was being said. Moreover, _his_ strong hands were gripping either side of my face in an immovable way.

The young-one struck out, kicking me in the ribs. The pain was exemplary – not nearly as bad as the burning had been but still considerable. I heard rather than felt the snapping of my bones.

Something happened then, as I slumped in _his_ grip, wishing for death. _His_ eyes lit up and I saw the wicked grin spread across _his_ face before I lost consciousness ….

* * *

><p>I shook myself and used every ounce of will I had to force the stream of unpleasantness to a halt. The images ceased but the internal dialogue continued for a few moments longer. That <em>incident<em> had been the start of the worst period in my life. The torture had continued for ages, eventually ending when _he_ grew tired of it. I'd understood, after some brief … readings … that _his_ goal was to read me. When it became obvious that _his _experiments would result in my death, _he_ bit me. The problem was … I never changed. _He_ was endlessly fascinated by this phenomenon. Apparently I was the first human to ever reject the transformation. As such, _he'd_ instituted a new form of torture. I spent the next years of my captivity acting as little more than a walking, talking hors d'oeuvre.

It had been hours since I'd woken from the nightmare of Edward _feeding_ on me. Now, having spent a significant amount of time reliving my darkest hours, I needed to get out of the house. My audio books weren't distracting enough and neither was cleaning. My best bet was to get outside and walk. Doing so had always helped to clear my head.

I threw on a light jacket – the weather was still warm, though the clouds still filled the sky – and headed out into the back yard. The woods stretched up all the way to the property line and I made a beeline for them. I set out on a hardly-visible deer path without considering where it would lead.

At first, I was focusing very hard on doing nothing but walking – very fast. My pace forced me to pay attention to the placement of my feet rather than the meandering horrors lingering in my mind.

Unfortunately, I could only keep the pace up for so long before I grew tired. My bought of insomnia had severely limited my energy level – not to mention the mental wear the nightmares and new revelations had inflicted. When my breathing had grown labored, I stopped and took measure of my surroundings. A recently fallen tree – recent only in that lichen had not completely covered the surface – leaned against its fellows, creating a makeshift bench. Providential as it seemed, I worked my way off the wandering path and sat down – keeping my jacket between the soggy surface and my clothing.

The greenery-filtered light and quiet melancholy of the forest calmed me. I could remember playing in copes of trees when I was younger … safer. This reminded me of that.

As I sat, trying to catch my breath, my outrun thoughts finally caught up with me. I realized that I had to face them now – no matter how unwelcome or terrifying they were. I did so clinically, remotely; trying my best to allow logic to prevail over fear. I started with the newly realigned data I'd been gathering about the Cullens since the accident, comparing it to my limited and yet _way_ too extensive experience with the Italian vampires.

I looked at everything thoroughly; appearance, diet – or lack thereof, speed, strength, movement – overt grace countered by mechanical fidgeting. There were distinct differences between the Cullens and the vampires of Italy. However, some of these could be excused away – after all, no two races were exactly the same either. In the end, I could come to no other conclusion than the truth: Edward and the others _were_ vampires.

Once I reached that result only my reactions were to be determined. Given my past experiences, I had a _very_ healthy fear of vampires. Since my escape I'd fled at even the barest hint that a vampire was in the area. As such, my mind immediately jumped to the deduction that I should run, flee, get away as fast as I could and never look back. This was the logical decision, the safe one. However, the very concept caused me pain – a sharp stabbing sensation just under my collarbone which made it hard for me to breathe.

I didn't understand the reason for this, at first. Though, after some contemplation, I came to the realization that, while it was safer for me to leave, I couldn't _imagine_ doing so because of Edward. I chastised myself over this. I was being ridiculous! Was being near him worth the _risk_?

The logical answer would have been no, and I knew this. Regrettably, I couldn't admit that it was the right one. I couldn't _be_ logical about him because my attraction to him _wasn't_ logical – it was physical, mental, emotional … stupid.

Consequently, my only remaining option was to stay. To put myself in jeopardy every time I entered his company ….

As this thought crossed my mind, my head was filled with a contradictory vision: Edward's body wrapped carefully around my smaller form, his arms stretched out protectively in front of me, braced to accept the impact of the careening van. The vision was accompanied by a reminder of the scent that was uniquely his – the one I had been unable to identify at the time of the accident.

This hallucination, memory – whatever it was – had the effect of calming my system down, clearing my head. This reaction made me think: he had saved my life. If he was like those others, he wouldn't have done that. Maybe I was overreacting …. If he was intent on killing me, he could have done so at any time he chose. He hadn't. He wasn't evil. He was a good … vampire ….

This decided me. I knew now that I couldn't leave him. It wasn't just my unsatisfied curiosity or my certain belief that he wouldn't hurt me. It was because somehow during the bickering and the teasing, the shunning and longing, I had fallen in love … with a vampire. No, I hadn't fallen in love with a vampire. I'd fallen in love with a person; an intelligent, mysterious, gallant, aggravating person.

How had I let this happen? I'd been _so_ careful over the years to remain aloof, untouchable. I'd been so sure of myself, confident in my ability to stay detached. What had changed? When had I become this vulnerable? When did I throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into this murky, emotional pool?

In the overall scheme of things, I suppose the answers to these questions didn't matter. The fact was that I was utterly and irrevocably in love with Edward Cullen. Stupid as it was, I'd already gone beyond the point of no return. A new future stretched out before me. One in which I didn't merely _exist_. One in which I _lived_.

As my thoughts drew to a close, the surrounding quiet of the forest filled my ears. It was strange how relaxed I now felt. I could actually enjoy the walk back to my house; appreciate the untouched wonder of the surrounding wilderness.

It wasn't until I was in sight of the back door that I began to worry about tomorrow. Would Edward realize I knew? Would the Quileute werewolves have already informed the Cullens of the breach in their treaty? What effect would that have? Would Edward start avoiding me again? Would he be angry … dangerous? He and his family had gone through a _lot_ of trouble and effort to keep under the radar here. There was _no way_ they'd appreciated someone else being in the know ….

* * *

><p>Leave it to me to dwell on the negative possibilities inherent in a situation – I'd never fail to fill those shoes. The resultant restlessness didn't lend itself well to pleasant dreams. I didn't have nightmares, per se. The dreams were just … different.<p>

I couldn't stay in the house the next morning. My mind was still turning over and over the endless stream of 'what ifs'. By quarter to seven I figured that it was better to get to school than to sit alone … wondering. So I packed my backpack and made the short drive, gripping the steering wheel with tense hands the whole way.

The sun was shining today – barely a cloud in the sky to be seen for miles. The weather was even nicer than it had been for the doomed beach trip. Determined to bask in the warmth and light for as long as I could, I spread my coat out on one of the rarely-used picnic tables outside and perched atop it. I rolled the cuffs of my shirt up to my elbow and extended my arms behind me as I lifted my face to the light. So lost to exultation in the uncommon, I didn't realize that the parking lot was filling up until someone called my name.

"Lily!" Mike was waving at me as he walked from his Suburban to my table.

"Hey, Mike!" I greeted him enthusiastically – it was hard to be half-hearted on a morning such as this.

"Great day, isn't it?" Mike was wearing khaki shorts and a green and white-striped short-sleeved polo. I smirked at his choice. The weather was nice but it couldn't be much over sixty-five today. Definitely not the right weather for shorts.

"Absolutely." I sat up straight letting my dark hair spill over my shoulders.

Mike's eyes followed the curls, "I never noticed before … your hair has red in it." He reached forward and pinched a section between his fingers.

I froze for a second. I wasn't used to being touched in this manner and I hadn't invited him to do so. Moreover, the level of intimacy inherent in the action was something I didn't want others to start gossiping about. "Only in the sun," I tried to pull away but he leaned forward and tucked the errant strand behind my ear.

I bit my lip nervously.

"So, what did you do this weekend?" Mike's tone was a little too proprietary – as though he had a vested interest in the answer. My impression was that he was trying to find out if I'd had a date.

"Not much, actually. Did some cleaning, some homework," He was thoroughly engrossed as if my humdrum activities were somehow of vital import. That wasn't the result I'd been hoping for. I searched around for something a little more boring, "Mostly I worked on that Shakespeare essay for English."

"Oh, yeah." He looked a little upset, "That's due Thursday, right?"

"Wednesday," I didn't bother sounding unsure. I'd actually written the whole thing the night it'd been assigned – no point in waiting.

"Oh, dang. What are you writing about?"

"Shakespeare's misogynistic treatment of his female characters." This was a topic I'd written at length on during my last college term. The professor was a hardcore feminist and I'd learned it was best to _pretend_ to agree with her rhetoric rather than countermand it.

Mike looked totally dumbfounded, as though I'd spoken in some foreign language, "Okay …. I guess I'd better get started on that tonight." He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh," the word came out sounding more interested than I'd meant it to be. Why was it that every single time Mike and I had a conversation more than two sentences long he somehow managed to interject some form of pickup?

He looked somewhat hopeful, "Well … we could go out tonight and I could work on the essay tomorrow."

"Mike … look," I really disliked doing this – mostly because it made me feel like a heartless shrew. I liked Mike well enough as a person – a friend – but I couldn't understand why he couldn't just get it through his head that I wasn't interested in _dating_ him. Moreover, why was it that he seemed completely oblivious to Jessica's interest? Were all boys this unfathomable? "I really don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" He was sullen now and I could almost see the mental leap he made – he thought I was seeing someone already.

My mind jumped to Edward and I wondered if that was where he'd settled, too. "I don't date people my friends are interested in." _Well, not unless those people have already turned that friend down before I arrived on the scene …._

He looked confused, "Who?" It was obvious that his mind was going in a different direction.

I raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, "Jessica – who else?"

"Jessica?"

I rolled my eyes, "Seriously, Mike. Are you blind?"

"Oh ...," he was lost inside his own musings now. His face cleared slightly and he got a vaguely smug look on its babyish features.

Suddenly, I was worried that Mike would go blabbing about what I'd told him. "Do me a favor, okay? Don't tell her I told you. It wasn't my place but I thought you had a right to know."

"Uh, okay." He looked confused again.

Wow, he really was as oblivious as I'd feared. The bell rang and I got up off the table, retrieving my now-damp jacket. "I can't afford to be late again or Mr. Mason will give me detention." As I watched his distracted acknowledgment I resolved that I was going to have to be more firm with him in the future. The sooner he got over his crush on me, the better off _both_ of us would be.

The morning flew by in a blur. In trig, Jessica could talk of nothing but the upcoming dance – and its resultant shopping spree. After a series of interrupted, unfinished sentences I gathered that she, Angela, and Lauren were planning a trip to Port Angeles that evening to go buy dresses.

"You should totally come along!" Jessica interrupted herself again. "I mean – you don't need a dress, but you used to live in LA. That's like the ultimate fashion city! You could totally give us constructive criticism …," she continued on but I stopped listening after that.

I was tempted. My only reservation was in the fact that Lauren would be there. After her overtly rude display at First Beach, I wasn't particularly keen on spending an extended amount of time in her company. I told Jessica that I'd have to talk to Julia before I could commit. She agreed and went off on another dance-related topic.

I stopped listening. A plus side to Port Angeles would be that I could sign up for my dance class while I was there. That was something to look forward to, in any case.

As I passed the parking lot on my way to French, I scanned the front-row cars trying to spot Edward's shiny Volvo. It wasn't there. I didn't think much of it until I got into the classroom and realized that Alice wasn't there either. It was then that I started to worry. The Cullens wouldn't just leave when they were told of my knowledge, would they? Edward would at least have said goodbye, right? He'd promised to warn me ….

My dour mood was furthered when I walked into the crowded cafeteria only to see that the Cullens' table was empty. My only solace was in Mike's shifted focus onto Jessica throughout lunch.

Angela asked me a few quiet questions regarding the Macbeth paper I'd written before extending her invitation for me to join them on the shopping excursion. This time, I readily agreed. At least I'd have _something_ to do this evening besides sit home and mope.

I couldn't even brighten my mood through exercise in Gym class. The coach was doing an instructional lecture on the rules of Badminton. I was so bored by the time I left that I was actually looking _forward_ to going to Port Angeles – _despite_ Lauren's presence.

Unfortunately, Jessica caught up with me in the parking lot to cancel our plans. Somewhere, underneath the disappointment I felt, I knew I was pleased that Mike had asked Jessica out on the date he'd planned for me. It was a good thing that he was turning his romantic attentions to someone who both desired and deserved them. I had just really been hoping for an escape ….

Jessica rescheduled our trip for the next evening and then scurried away to get ready for her date.

When I got home, I was in an out-and-out bad mood. Julia wasn't due home until well after dark so I didn't even have that distraction. I spent a measured half-hour on homework, but even that couldn't hold my attention. Intent on breaking my mood, I considered taking my Porsche on a drive through the winding roads of Northwestern Washington. With how fast I could go, I could surely make it all the way to Canada and back before Julia got home ….

Half-decided, I grabbed my keys and headed into the garage. I was behind the wheel before I realized that this wasn't what I wanted to do. Driving the Porsche was fun, but someone might see me – it _was_ still daylight out.

Reluctantly I went back inside the house to stare dejectedly at the bright blue sky through the windows.

Suddenly, as though a light bulb had flashed on inside of my head, I got an idea. I could wash the T-Bird. Why not? It was sunny and mostly warm.

I quickly changed into a pair of cutoffs and a tank top before finding the necessary implements under the kitchen sink. I pulled the old car out of its hiding place in the extra garage and gave it a thorough cleaning.

The exercise was therapeutic, in a way. I was able to channel my anxiety and irritation into scrubbing the ever-present mud off the fenders, doors, and wheels.

When I was finally satisfied the car was looking _much_ better – except for the dent …. I'd worn myself out but I didn't feel like retreating back inside for the evening.

Well, the sun was still up. Why not take advantage of it?

I went inside and grabbed a thick blanket out of the linen closet and the paperback copy of Sense and Sensibility I was supposed to be reading for school. I went out into the back yard and spread the cotton cover out over the forever-damp grass before laying down on my stomach to read.

Unfortunately, I wasn't really in the mood to read. Moreover, I was definitely _not_ in the mood to read a book where the hero shared a name with my own obsession – besides, I knew the book inside and out already.

Frustrated by the indistinguishable similarities between the heroin's Edward and mine, I slammed the book shut and tossed it to the far edge of my blanket. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of the distant sun warming the cold porcelain of my skin. The brightness permeated my delicate eyelids and helped to alleviate the monotony of Olympic Peninsula weather. Breathing deeply in and out I relaxed, allowing my mind to temporarily disconnect from the everyday worries of my life.

* * *

><p>The next thing I was aware of was the sound of Julia calling my name. I'd been dreaming of Edward again – this time in a more pleasant way – and her voice hadn't fit into my dream. When my eyes fluttered open, I spotted something high up in the trees some distance off – pale white and glowing ever so slightly in the dim moonlight. Blinking, I tried to focus harder on the indistinct shape but it was gone before I was sure it was actually there. As I gathered my blanket and book up off the grass I had to tell myself I'd been imagining things. The weirdest thing was; I had <em>thought<em> that it was Edward ….

* * *

><p>Tuesday was even worse than Monday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping – heck, the angels themselves could have been singing and I wouldn't have noticed. What I did notice was that the Cullens weren't in school again. I had almost decided that they had left town because I'd found out about them. That prospect hurt me, tremendously. I could feel the sharp, stabbing pain in my chest anytime I thought about Edward – so … basically, it was always there. I couldn't believe that he'd simply up and vanished again without having the courtesy of letting me know he was going.<p>

I went through the day in a fog, paying little attention to anything that went on. By the time school let out, I was _desperate_ to get out of town. I wasn't enthusiastic about critiquing Jessica and Angela's dress selections but at least I wouldn't have to endure Lauren's snide company – apparently she had some family obligations for the evening. Overall, providing constructive criticism was better than sitting at home, wondering.

Jessica followed me home so that I could drop my bag off before we left for Port Angeles. For a fleeting moment as I entered the house I considered suggesting that we all take the Porsche. Then I realized that three people really wouldn't be comfortable in the cramped space. Stylish as the car was, it wasn't meant for group travel. Ruefully, I moved my wallet and keys into one of my purses – something Steph had insisted I buy, ran a brush through my hair, and applied a little tinted chap-stick before heading out to join the girls. I typed Julia a brief text to let her know where I was before focusing all my attention on my companions.

There was a palpable lift in my mood as we actually drove out of the town limits.


	8. Chapter 8: Port Angeles

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_ **- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_ **or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on and getting it back to me so fast!

Ah, Port Angeles. Gorgeous harbor and boardwalk contrasted by the ocassional group of creepy, industrial district alleyway stalkers! In this chapter, you get to see another 'Knight in Shining Armor' moment from Edward as well as watch as Lily starts to breach the 'I know you're a vampire' topic.  
>Now, if I were nice, I'd apologize for the TERRIBLE cliff hanger waiting at the end of the chapter ... but I'm not nice ;P<p>

WARNING: There are some minorly graphic descriptions of rape and murder as part of this chapter. It is only a small portion of a paragraph, but I felt I needed to give a warning - some people can't handle that kind of stuff.

Enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8:<strong>

We made it to Port Angeles in just under an hour. Jessica's stereo wailed whiny rock tunes in the background as she blathered on and on about the boys in our class. She was absolutely ecstatic to be going to the dance with Mike – we had to hear it every few minutes. Angela, on the other hand, was pleased to be going to the dance, but wasn't particularly interested in Eric in that way. Jessica tried to get Angela to admit to us whom she _was_ interested in. I let the wheedling go on for about five minutes before I pointedly turned the topic back to Jessica's date with Mike. Angela shot me a grateful look when I did this and I smiled reassuringly back at her. I didn't blame her for not wanting to impart her crush's identity to Jessica. Her secret wouldn't stay intact for long, if she did so. Jessica was a well-known gossip.

My impression was that Port Angeles was a quaint little tourist trap. The picturesque boardwalk snaked along the coast, crowded with every kind of tourist shop you could imagine. From the size, it was clear that the formal dress options would be limited. Without explanation Jessica drove straight to the one large department store in town. The three-story building was a block away from the boardwalk and provided splendid views of the Harbor – from the parking lot.

Walking through the large, glass sliding doors was reminiscent of coming home. Steph had _loved_ shopping – though she often did little more than peruse the wares. I followed a determined Jessica through the throngs of Tuesday-afternoon shoppers, up an escalator, and into the juniors department. But these racks of jeans and blouses didn't hold what we were looking for. After a short foray into the surrounding area, we found the formals.

For nearly half an hour I managed to maintain an interested demeanor as the girls flitted in and out of the dressing room. I put reject dresses back on their racks and dutifully retrieved larger or smaller sizes as necessary. There was something to be said for limited selection – much to my surprise. The entire experience took less time than similar trips I'd made with Stephenie. In the end, Angela had picked out a pale pink number which set off her skin and brown hair excellently and Jessica was stuck debating between two options. Her first was a jet black sylph-like dress that was basic and yet sophisticated and an electric blue, single-shoulder gown that was daring and playful. After a thorough discussion of the assets of each, she went with my suggestion – the blue one.

I really was trying to be helpful. Unfortunately, my lack of enthusiasm wasn't as veiled as I'd hoped. Angela and I were sitting in the shoe section – she was debating between two pairs of heels – while Jessica wandered off to the jewelry section.

"You really aren't all that interested in this, are you?" Angela's tone was neither accusatory nor annoyed. She was simply making an observation free from judgment.

I shrugged, "Not particularly. This," I waved my hand in a way meant to encompass the entirety of the store, "isn't really my thing."

She smiled conspiratorially, "Me neither." She tilted her left foot – sheathed in a soft pink sandal-like shoe – to one side, examining the effect. "It's a little surprising, though." Again, an observation.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your clothes are always so nice. It's like you put a lot of effort into them." She smiled up at me to show that it wasn't meant as an insult.

I laughed, "Not really. I just throw on whatever I wake up to," I picked at the collar of my v-neck blouse. "These are just the clothes I have."

"Well, living in LA has to have its benefits, right?" She looked down at her right foot – ensconced in a practical white heel.

"True …."

Now that we'd exhausted that subject, I found myself with nothing further to say. My mind reverted back to a recent pastime – wondering what Edward was up to. As I watched Angela examine the two different options she had, I realized that she was the perfect person to question. Her nonjudgmental nature lent itself well to inquisitiveness.

"Angela …," I was still a bit hesitant. Asking about Edward would be a little too obvious.

"Hmm?" She looked up at me expectantly.

"I was wondering something …."

"What's that?" She waited patiently.

"Is it normal for the Cullens to be out of school a lot?" I tried to limit the emphasis I put to the name.

"When the weather is nice, yes. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen take them all backpacking and such. They're all real outdoorsy."

"Oh, okay."

She lowered her eyes to her shoes again, leaving the subject where it lay.

I was thoroughly grateful for her lack of nosiness. I could only have imagined the thousands of questions Jessica would have launched into, if I'd dared to ask her.

"The pink looks better," I observed.

"Yeah …," she paused and rotated the shoe again, "I think I'll get them – though they'll never go with anything but the one dress."

I smirked, "You'd be surprised."

It wasn't until Angela and I had joined Jessica at the jewelry counter that my attitude took a distinctive turn for the worse.

"You know, I still don't get why you don't want to go. Do you just not like dances or something?" Jessica cast me a sidelong glance as she reexamined the rhinestone jewelry she was contemplating.

I shrugged, "I've never been to one, so I don't know if I like them or not. I just have …,"

"You've never been to a dance?" Jessica seemed astonished by my revelation and even Angela's face was mildly incredulous.

"No." They didn't have school dances when I was growing up. Moreover, ever since I started attending schools I didn't have the inclination to attend the extracurricular activities.

"You never went with your boyfriend or anything?" She was obviously disbelieving.

"No. I've never had a boyfriend either."

"Are you serious?" Jessica spun around and was looking at me as though I'd sprouted wings or a unicorn horn from my forehead.

"Yes. Why?" I didn't understand why this was so shocking. Surely she must have noticed my disinterest in dating ….

"Wow. I mean – I was sure you must have some gorgeous boyfriend waiting for you back in LA. Why else would you turn down so many boys here?"

"Well," Angela butted in softly, "except for Tyler …."

"Excuse me?" I whirled to face her, hoping that I had not just heard what I'd thought I'd heard.

Jessica answered, "Tyler Crowley told everyone that he's taking you to the Prom."

"He what?" I was livid.

"It isn't true?" Angela looked concerned.

"No, it most certainly is _not_!" Okay, livid didn't quite cover it. I was contemplating violence – extensive violence.

Jessica looked smug, "I figured. Though, that's why Lauren doesn't like you."

"Huh?" This didn't make sense to me.

"She's had this _thing_ for Tyler since eighth grade."

"Oh, that's just _wonderful_!" I kneaded my forehead with my left hand, "Do you think running Tyler over with my car would make him back off?"

"That depends on why he's doing it." Jessica was smug.

"Ugh." I groaned and closed my eyes, clearly indicating a cease to the topic.

I was only able to stand Jessica's gloating attitude for another ten minutes. When it became clear that we weren't going to be leaving the store anytime soon, I decided I'd had enough. I told them that I had an errand to run while we were in town and that I would meet them for dinner in an hour. Angela looked vaguely worried but Jessica readily agreed – no doubt she'd like to gossip to Angela behind my back.

"Call me, if you need me." I waved my cell as I departed the store.

* * *

><p>I found the dance studio relatively quickly. It was in a shopping center directly off the boardwalk. It didn't take long to sign up for the new sessions and to pay my dues. In fact, I still had thirty minutes before I needed to find the restaurant. Not wanting to return to shopping, I proceeded to wander the streets of Port Angeles, looking for a bookstore or something else of interest.<p>

Before long, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I was thinking about what Angela had said about the Cullens' absences. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen tended to pull them all out of school on sunny days to go camping and hiking …. So, maybe the old myths and legends about vampires weren't entirely wrong. I knew they could be up in the daytime – _he'd_ been there sometimes. Besides, the Cullens were in school most days anyway. Perhaps it was only that they couldn't be in direct sunlight. Well, it was something to consider, at least. It was conceivable that their absence was little more than coincidence and habit.

* * *

><p>The streets were starting to get dark before I realized that I'd lost track of time. When I attempted to take stock of my surroundings, I became a bit apprehensive. I was no longer in the 'tourist' part of Port Angeles. Rather, it seemed as though I'd wandered off the beaten path into the industrial district. There were warehouses and overgrown lots everywhere.<p>

Before I could make up my mind to simply turn around and start heading west, I became conscious of the presence of several other people in my immediate vicinity. A quick scan revealed two men trailing after me. Their demeanor was such that I got the distinct impression that I needed to lose them – and fast.

Unfamiliar with the layout of this portion of the city, I attempted to weave my way through the clustered warehouses – heading in a meandering northwest direction. I told myself that, soon, I would be back on the more populated streets where I wouldn't have to worry so much about those ominous men.

Unfortunately, I understood – too late – that I was being herded farther away from civilization. After several long minutes of being conspicuously followed, I rounded a corner, intending to break into a run as soon as I was out of the pursuers' line of sight. My plans were foiled by the presence of three other men leaning against the blank, windowless warehouse walls in front of me. Past them – several hundred feet – was an intersection. I could barely make out the flashing pedestrian signs and the lights of lampposts and cars.

I wasn't exactly a stranger to self-defense, but even I couldn't be confidant of taking down five attackers. Deciding that I still might be able to get beyond the looming figures ahead, I edged away from them toward the opposite wall, and continued walking at an accelerated pace toward the distant signs of civilization.

As I came even with them, a large man – muscular, but in a way that indicated he'd let his physique turn soft, pushed away from the wall and approached me. My eyes were drawn to his greasy, stringy hair, ratty beard, and unkempt clothing. I began to understand that they had _no intention_ of letting me proceed unmolested.

I tensed and straightened my spine so as to make myself appear larger, "Stay where you are." My voice didn't have nearly the volume I'd been hoping for, my suddenly dry mouth and throat hindering airflow.

"Don't be like that, sugar." His next step placed him between me and the populated street ahead.

"Get out of my way." My volume was back and I was as firm as I could be. There was no way I was going down without a fight. Maybe, if I could incapacitate that one – the apparent leader – the others would back off. I braced myself for the confrontation, feeling the squeezing, twisting loathing of violence take hold of my stomach.

My reaction seemed to stymie the man for a moment. He paused in his approach and appraised me from head to foot.

In that second, I caught a glimpse inside his head. What I saw nearly made me ill. His mind was a cesspool of violence, lust, and anger. Even as he was creeping toward me, he was remembering other times … other girls. The face of a girl eerily similar to one of my classmates flashed through his recollection; followed immediately by the same face contorted into a mask of pain and terror. The last image was almost unrecognizable. The once pretty face was emotionless, bloody, eyes vacant. Her lifeless corpse barely resembled the girl she'd once been. As this horrific visage floated before him – for an instant overshadowing my own features in his eyes – I could feel the surge of lust he felt settle low in his torso.

In that instant, I recognized that this man was not only intent on raping me but also on killing me. I was not about to let that happen. I wouldn't be a victim! I'd had enough of being tortured and terrorized by the likes of this monster!

My resolve solidified and I prepared to strike out. In all the years I'd lived I'd grown to abhor violence and death. I'd never intentionally hurt anyone. That was all about the change. My course was set. This man wouldn't _live_ long enough to regret his sins.

One of the minions sniggered as his doomed companion … Lonnie – the name floated to me from one of their inebriated minds – stepped forward. From beneath the haze of rage and righteous disgust I was directing at him another sound made itself heard – the high-pitched squealing of tires on asphalt.

Before I could register what that sound meant, a car came swerving around the far corner only to barrel down the alleyway toward us at full speed. _Lonnie_ was so close I could almost _feel_ the warmth of his body, taste the vile spew of his breath on my tongue. I wanted so badly to lash out at him, use my superior strength to knock him to the ground and stomp the life out of him. I never got that chance.

A scant handful of feet away from us, the driver of the small silver Volvo slammed on the brakes causing the vehicle to doughnut around toward me and Lonnie. It came to a stop inches from my newly frozen form, passenger door open, front bumper nearly kissing the knees of my would-be murderer.

"Get in, Lily!" The voice that emerged from the darkened cab was harsh but familiar – Edward.

Without a second thought, I folded myself into the car, slamming the door shut behind me. The vehicle lurched forward slightly – causing the shocked criminal to scramble backwards on his butt – before being thrown into reverse, angled toward the street, and accelerating.

In record time, the alleyway and its resident vermin were out of sight. Edward drove too fast through the crowded streets, paying no heed to traffic signals or other cars. I was still reeling from my near-miss encounter and the resultant anger boiling within me. Before I'd managed to calm down, Edward had driven us out of town and parked in the driveway of an abandoned house.

A few tense seconds passed before he turned to face me, his face full of concern but his eyes roiling with barely-restrained rage. The sight was enough to both quell my remaining hatred and also to take my breath away. Never before had anyone so resembled an avenging angel.

"Are you okay?" The words were echoing around the confined space before I realized that they were mine.

"No." His hand came up so fast I almost couldn't see it move, and he massaged his temples. "Do me a favor."

"Anything." I bit my lip when I realized the open-endedness of my response. Well, too late. I'd stick to it more likely than not.

"Distract me."

"I'm sorry, what?" His request didn't make any sense to me. Distract him from what? Suddenly, I felt the bottom drop out from my stomach. Maybe his anger wasn't directed entirely at the men who'd thought to victimize me. What if some of it was directed at me? I'd been the one carelessly wandering the streets of a city I didn't know. I'd also figured out his secret.

"Just prattle about something inconsequential until I don't want to go back there and hunt down those …," he cut himself off and closed his eyes.

Even though this was an intriguing prospect to me – I was still simmering in my own murderous rage – I frantically skimmed through my mind to find an unimportant topic, worrying my lower lip as I did so. Considering his temperament, I tried to keep the topic light, teasing. "I'm going to have to inflict bodily harm on Tyler Crowley tomorrow morning before school all because you don't know proper parking lot decorum."

This seemed to work as his tone eased, "How is it _my_ fault that you have to beat up Tyler?"

"If you had followed protocol, you wouldn't have created that traffic jam in the lot after school last week and Tyler wouldn't have asked me to the Spring Dance and, therefore, wouldn't have _convinced_ himself that I'm going to _Prom_ with him!"

Edward laughed under his breath, "Oh, he would have found a way to ask you anyway. I just really wanted to see your face."

"You _must_ be a masochist!" I grumbled – mostly to myself.

"Oh?" He smirked at me, a hard edge to his grin.

"Yes. You stick around after wreaking havoc to receive your dose of blame!" I fought hard not to stick my tongue out at him.

He sniggered, "It really wouldn't have made a difference. Tyler has been bragging about your Prom date since before he actually asked you to the Spring Dance."

I was thoroughly sidetracked. Now, I was royally irked with Tyler. _What was he thinking?_

"What _is_ it with boys in this town?" It was rhetorical and I kept ranting, "How is it that they seem _totally _oblivious to the fact that I'm not interested? Do I have some sort of flashing neon sign on my forehead that says 'I want a date'?"

Edward truly laughed at the end of my little rant. My verbal fuming seemed to have broken his bad mood – though the anger still simmered faintly behind the ochre of his liquid eyes.

"Any better?" I asked tentatively – though I was still grumbling to myself over the illogicality of the male gender.

"Partially." He paused to review his statement before continuing, "Sometimes I have trouble controlling my temper, Lily."

"No," I smirked teasingly at him. "Your _problem_ seems to be with other peoples' tempers – inciting them."

He chuckled under his breath and I looked away from his glorious face – I'd made enough slips tonight. It was better to be cautious from here on out.

Seeking a distraction of my own, I glanced down at the clock. According to the little glowing numbers I was an hour late for dinner with Jessica and Angela. I groaned and quickly retrieved my cell from my back pocket. No bars.

Edward was looking quizzically at me.

"I'm late for dinner with Jess and Angela. I really should get back to them before they go off looking for me …."

Edward nodded and turned the engine over. Without any hint from me about _where_ I was supposed to meet them, he drove me straight to the tiny Italian restaurant on the boardwalk.

As he pulled into a space that seemed much too small for his car, I was a little suspicious. How had he known where to go? It wasn't like this was the _only_ restaurant in the Port Angeles area.

"How …," I started. Nothing more came out because, at that moment, I caught sight of Jessica and Angela standing under a lamppost on the corner looking as though they were about to set out searching for me.

Edward's door opened and he was walking around to my side of the car.

"What are you doing?" I opened my own door and shot him a curious glance.

"Taking you to dinner," He held the door as I scrambled out onto the sidewalk. Motioning with a jerk of his chin toward my wayward friends, "You'd better stop them. I wouldn't want to have to track them down, too."

I shivered convulsively and turned to flag down the girls, "Jess! Angela! I'm over here."

Both of them seemed relieved – though Angela more than Jessica.

"Where have you been?" Jessica's voice was indignant and irritated, "I've been trying to call you but you didn't answer."

"Yeah, my phone doesn't seem to get good reception out here …," I tried to explain but was interrupted.

"Where were you?"

Edward came to the rescue, stepping to my side and addressing my friends, "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Lily and I ran into each other, got to talking, and just lost track of time."

The looks on their faces were priceless – as well as incredulous, on Jessica's part.

"Oh, that's all right. We were just worried," Angela recovered first.

Jessica's mouth was still slightly agape.

"Lily mentioned that you were supposed to eat dinner together. Would you mind if I joined you?" Edward's proximity to my side was disconcerting. Moreover, I wasn't entirely in-line with his request. I had some questions I wanted answered and the presence of these two girls wouldn't allow for them.

Angela looked disappointed, "Actually, Lily, we kind of ate while we were waiting. Sorry."

"I understand." I hitched my purse up on my shoulder, wondering at the fact that I had managed to hang onto the tiny leather bag throughout my alleyway excursion.

"I think you should probably eat something, Lily." Edward's tone was a little bossy but I didn't have a chance to get upset. He turned the full force of his mesmerizing gaze on the two unsuspecting teenage girls before us, "Would you mind if I gave Lily a ride home tonight? Seeing as how I kept her from eating, I think I should ensure she gets some food."

"Uh … sure, I guess." Jessica cast a weary glance at me, trying to make sure I was fine with the proposal.

I smiled conspiratorially and winked at her swiftly.

Angela got the hint faster than Jessica. "Okay, Lily. We'll see you in school tomorrow. Call us, when you get home." She was tugging Jessica toward her awaiting car.

"Will do," I smiled and waved. At this rate, I'd owe Angela more than I could ever repay in an eternity.

I waited until Jessica's little Honda was out of sight before turning my attention back to Edward, "You know, I'm really not hungry."

"Humor me," he walked to the restaurant door and held it open, waiting.

I shrugged and proceeded him into the building.

* * *

><p>It wasn't the intricate ironwork lattices or the appealing aroma drifting in from the kitchen that first caught my attention. No, it was the reception by the hostess which was overly warm and inviting to Edward and chillier than the breeze blowing in off the harbor toward me. The woman – in her early twenties and unnaturally blonde – didn't even bother trying to conceal her ogling of Edward. Her dark eyes raked down the length of him in the same manner in which my uncle would have appraised a prize stallion he meant to purchase.<p>

The door had clicked shut behind us before Edward spoke, "A table for two?"

It was then that she realized the stunning specimen before her had company. Her expression turned sour as she skimmed over me, "Of course. Welcome to La Bella Italia."

As she turned her attention away from me, I had to remind myself that it was a good thing that I couldn't read minds at will. Even so, I didn't have to be a telepath to understand her assessment – I was negligible.

"Follow me." Grabbing some menus from the slot on her podium, she escorted us through the dinnertime crowd to a large table in the middle of the busiest section.

I was in the middle of pulling out the proffered seat when Edward caught my eye and shook his head. Puzzled, I waited.

His hand went fluidly into his pocket and then he smoothly handed the hostess a tip, "Perhaps something more private?"

Suddenly, I was a little apprehensive. Why would we _need_ privacy? It wasn't that I was loath to spend time alone with him – quite the opposite. I was just anxious about the necessity.

"Sure," the hostess redirected us around a partition to a booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant – one out of sight of both the other patrons and the majority of the staff. "How's this?"

"Perfect," Edward's face broke into a wide, teeth-baring grin.

Even from a few feet away I heard the woman's breath catch. Her eyes went vaguely out of focus before she recovered herself, "Um … your server will be right out." As she returned to her designated post, her balance lilted slightly to the left.

Edward remained standing, looking faintly confused.

"You know," I took a seat, "if she passes out in the kitchen and suffers a concussion, it'll be entirely your fault."

He turned to me, looking quizzical, "How do you mean?"

"Oh, come now. Can you honestly say that dazzling people into incoherency is fair?" I motioned, indicating the direction the hostess had gone in, "She's probably hyperventilating somewhere."

Taking his seat, his head tilted to one side, "I dazzle people?"

"You're telling me that you haven't noticed the way people respond to you? Surely you can't think everyone has such an easy time getting what they want." How could it be that he didn't understand what his gazes, his smiles did to someone's ability to think?

His curious gaze shifted slightly into something I didn't quite recognize, "Do I dazzle you?"

_Great._ I hadn't meant to include myself in 'people' but he'd obviously seen through that. Well, better the truth, right?

"Frequently." I looked away from his eyes.

Cue the waitress.

"Hello, my name is Amber and I'll be your server tonight." She flipped a strand of short black hair behind her ear, "Can I start you off with some drinks?"

I didn't miss the fact that she was speaking solely to Edward. My back had been to her when she approached and she hadn't deigned to glance in my direction since she'd arrived. From the look on her face, I could tell that the hostess had described Edward – probably in explicit detail ….

I did my best to control my scowl as I waited to see how Edward would react. _This isn't a date, this isn't a date, this _isn't _a date!_ This mantra repeated in my head several times in quick succession.

Edward's eyes never left my face despite the obvious effort of the waitress to catch his eye. Instead, he motioned with his hand to indicate that I should place my beverage order.

Grudgingly, the waitress turned her attention to me; the expression on her face veiled annoyance.

I skimmed the menu – using the excuse to hide the smirk I felt sliding across my lips, "Peach tea, please."

With a relishing grin the waitress turned back to Edward, "How about you?"

"The same." He never looked at her.

"I'll be right back with that." A promise.

"What?" I reached up to nervously run my hand through my curls, "Did I do something …?"

"No, no. It's not that," he waved his hand in dismissal, "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine." What did my health have to do with anything?

"Really? You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold?"

I blinked, "No." It took me a moment to understand what he was hinting at. He thought I was going into shock, "I feel just fine – no tingling or nausea or any of that." I unrolled the silverware from the cloth napkin and placed it in my lap.

"Really?" He seemed surprised.

"Honestly, I'm not going into shock. I'm rather accustomed to dealing with unpleasant circumstances." I didn't bother mentioning that, after what I'd experienced in the last few days, I was unlikely to be so easily traumatized by tonight's events.

Edward shrugged, "Still. I'll feel better when you have some food in you."

Right on cue, the waitress flitted around the partition with our drinks and a basket of bread – which she placed between us. "Are you ready to order?" Again, it was as though I had ceased to exist – or maybe that I never had existed to begin with.

"Lily?" Edward looked to me expectantly.

I was sorely tempted to order in Italian – I was fluent. However, showing up the server was a fast way to get your food mistreated in the kitchen. "I'll have the mushroom ravioli, please."

Without ever facing me, she scribbled my order onto her pad and then smiled invitingly at Edward, "And for you?"

"Nothing for me."

_Of course not_, I thought. His eyes were a warm butterscotch today and – unless I missed my mark – vampires didn't eat normal food.

There was a distinctive spark in the waitress's eyes as she registered his lack of appetite. It was a second before I understood that she was taking it to mean that he wanted to get through the date quickly. Too bad for her – and me … – that it wasn't a date. It was a business meeting … more or less.

"Drink." He indicated the large glass of light-colored tea before me.

I raised an eyebrow to indicate that I didn't appreciate his tone but, nonetheless, lifted the straw to my lips and took in a long pull of the syrup-sweetened concoction.

The hollow sound of air passing through the straw was happening in short order. It was remarkable how thirsty I was. Thirst was a sign of shock but I felt none of the other symptoms. Granted, it was also a sign of exertion – which I had been preparing for.

Without comment, Edward pushed his full glass toward me.

I nodded my thanks and moved the empty one aside. I didn't drink from the new glass – my thirst was satiated for the moment. However, the chill condensation clinging to the slick surface cooled my hand, reminding me of the less-than-tepid weather outside. Involuntarily, I shivered.

"Are you cold?" Concern etched his velvety voice.

I lifted the glass a little, "It's just the tea."

"Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yes," Not that I really needed it. I'd survived much colder conditions. Reflexively, I turned to retrieve the item from the chair behind me. The problem was that I'd left it in Jessica's car. "Just, apparently, not with me."

Shaking his head minutely from side to side, Edward slipped out of his tanned leather jacket and handed the article across the table.

"Thank you," I immediately slipped my arms through the too-long sleeves. The cloth liner was ice cold, as though it had been sitting outside rather than hanging about his torso. It also smelled _amazing_. The thick, heady scent that was uniquely his permeated the fabric. As it had days before in the woods, his scent – or the memory of it – had the effect of calming me. Breathing deeply, I closed my eyes and let my senses swim in the pleasure of closeness.

"That color purple looks lovely with your skin."

I flushed, my eyes opening wide in surprise. Not once since we'd met had Edward complimented me. In fact, his ribbing usually resulted in snarky comments about naivety. "I ... thank you." Probably best to leave the childish teasing until after I'd gotten my answers.

Now that we were alone, I was finding it hard to talk to him. I wasn't sure where to start. Did he know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that he knew that I knew? Or was he still unaware of my probative knowledge?

As I scrambled around in my head for somewhere to begin, Edward tilted his head to one side and nudged the bread basket toward me.

I was sidetracked.

"I am not going into shock – you have my word."

"You should be – a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken."

"I feel very safe with you." The words were out before I could censor them. Of more importance was the fact that they were true. I _did_ feel safe when I was around him and that was very, very stupid. My instincts were all wrong – convoluted. Something about the loss of Steph and Alex must have scrambled the way I perceived danger. Everything – every tiny, minuscule fact from my past – warned that I should be terrified of this creature – demanded it. Even so, I couldn't seem to find it in me to agree.

I worried my lip between my teeth as I watched his reaction.

He exhaled sharply. "This is more complicated than I'd planned," he murmured.

What was more complicated than he'd planned? I didn't understand his statement. Moreover, I wasn't quite sure I was supposed to have heard it. I decided to err on the side of caution.

"C'est la Vie," I reached forward and grabbed a breadstick, examining him as I nibbled on the end. "Though, I suppose it's different for you."

He looked up; panic barely held in check within his eyes, "Oh?"

I nodded, "Yes. You're so used to having the right answer – to knowing the outcome before it happens."

He tensed but didn't comment.

"Everyone expects it of you – for you to see what others don't." I took another bite, chewing carefully, "Especially you. You're harder on yourself than anyone else could ever be."

"What makes you think so?"

"I've watched you." I shrugged, eating another mouthful before continuing. "You're so used to reading everyone else that you forget – sometimes – that people might be able to do the same with you."

"Oh? And what have you gleaned?"

"How honest do you wish me to be?" I needed to understand his boundaries a little before I ventured over them.

"As much as you like," he was being cautious; I could hear it in his tone.

Something simple, then. "Well, take your eyes, for example." I adjusted my position so as to appear more relaxed, "Usually you're in a fairer mood when they're so pale."

"Excuse me?" He seemed flabbergasted.

"The color-shifting of your eyes." I clarified. When he didn't comment, I continued, "The schedule is very set. Whenever your eyes are dark, you are brusquer – moodier, if you will."

"Oh?" His response was forced though he was attempting to keep his expression casual.

"Yes. I have a theory about that, actually."

"More theories?" His endeavor for nonchalance fell just sort of the mark, though I wasn't sure he was aware of it.

"Mm-hm." I finished off the remaining morsel as he spoke.

"I hope you were more creative this time ...," he smirked roguishly at me, "Or are you still basing them in Greek Mythology?"

I grimaced, "Not exactly, though I have to admit that I didn't come up with it entirely on my own." After all, vampire myths weren't inherently Greek … or Quileute.

"And?" His teeth were gritted and I could tell that he was tense. If I kept up along this line of discussion, I'd essentially shoot myself in the foot. He'd break away and I'd never see him again.

Before I had a chance to answer, the waitress reappeared carrying my dish. As soon as my plate was safely on the table, she continued in her inattention of me.

Casting doe-eyes at Edward she leaned forward toward him, "There you go. Are you sure there isn't _anything_ else I can get for you?"

The top button of her blouse seemed to have come undone and I growled internally. That really was taking things too far. I'd have to write a very nasty letter to _Amber's_ manager about her.

"No, thank you." While Edward's eyes never strayed to the woman he seemed to have understood her double meaning. "Some more tea would be nice, though."

"Sure."

She returned in a moment with another glass of tea and left without another word. The woman's disappointment would have registered on a Richter Scale it was so tangible.

As soon as the tap of the waitress's shoes was inaudible, Edward spoke. "You were saying?"

"I'll tell you in the car," my voice was low and far too intense. "That is, if …."

"There are conditions?" The words were almost a growl.

I hadn't touched the silverware lying next to the steaming plate of pasta. I was here for answers, not food.

"Allow me to be frank," I leaned back and folded my hands in my lap, "I need some answers, Edward. Too many things have gone unexplained and I'm beginning to feel more than a little blind."

"You'd like some answers?" His voice was hard.

I nodded.

"Correct me, if I'm wrong, but I believe that our friendship was based on a certain level of naivety on your part." He was dodging the subject.

I felt my mouth set in a hard line, "If that's the way you want it." I removed my napkin from my lap and started to rise from the table.

"Wait," it sounded as if the plea was involuntary.

I stopped mid-rise.

He let out an exasperated sigh and met my gaze, "You're sure you want answers?"

I nodded.

"Ignorance can be bliss …," he raised his hand to halt me when he saw I was ready to interrupt. "A bliss you can't go back to once it's shattered."

I paused. He was cautioning me, not denying me. He was telling me that he was willing to try answering me. The only stipulation was that I be sure I actually wanted to know the answers.

I understood how hard this was for him. He'd been secretive for a long time – and for very good reasons. Either way, I needed to understand some things before I committed myself to his care.

He was right, ignorance was bliss. My only problem was that I wasn't entirely ignorant. My blissful fantasy world had been shattered long ago. In my case, ignorance was dangerous – possibly fatal.

I worried my lip between my teeth as I took my seat opposite him. "I can't keep going along in the dark. Sooner or later, I'm going to walk off the precipice and there'll be no way to come back."

He nodded and took a deep breath.

Understanding that this was concession, I decided to start simple.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"That's … complicated."

I nodded, "I'm sure." Then I waited.

He seemed to hesitate and I was worried he was changing his mind about telling me. "I don't know where to start, honestly."

This seemed reasonable. "How about I start, then?"

He looked quizzically at me.

"I've been watching, as I said." I absently twirled a ringlet around my fingers as I spoke. "Some things … are a little confusing."

"All right." He seemed frustrated, as though he didn't understand where I was going with this.

For a fleeting moment, I worried that I was imagining things. If he was truly telepathic, wouldn't he already know what I wanted?

"You're very … observant."

He waited.

"Almost omniscient," I clarified. "You always seem to know what most people around you are thinking – with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception." His correction was meant as a confirmation.

"All right, one exception." I tried to suppress the confident smile I could feel spreading across my lips. "I want to know how you do it. Is it simply good observation or is it something more … reading, if you will."

"I'd like to credit my skills in reading body language and facial expressions. However, there are … other factors to consider." He seemed highly uncomfortable in telling me this. His voice was low and intense and his posture reminded me of that of a bunny set to scurry into the roadside brush.

I wanted to assuage his concerns. He didn't trust me completely – and I couldn't blame him. I'd given him no reason to believe I wouldn't broadcast his secrets to the entire world once he laid them bare.

I settled my hands on the tabletop and tentatively reached toward his, "You can trust me, you know." The words were whispered, the softness meant to convey honesty.

"I don't know that I have a choice, anymore." He pulled his hands away from mine slightly.

I stopped the advance of my digits toward his and tried to hide the sting of rejection I felt from my eyes. "Perhaps – so few things are truly left up to us in life."

The huff of air that escaped through his lips was rueful agreement, "You really are more observant than I gave you credit for."

I smirked, "I'd hope so. Otherwise, I'd constantly be running into things."

His shoulders hunched into an apologetic shrug.

I realized that he had taken my ribbing as a rebuke. Intending to soften the blow, I met his eyes and smiled, "It's all right, Edward. You're not infallible – no one is."

"I used to be," his tone was serious, carrying a hint of remorse.

"No," I shook my head. "You're _used_ to everyone _thinking_ you are. That's not the same thing as _being_ perfect."

"I suppose that depends on who you talk to." He shrugged noncommittally.

"I'm sure Galileo had a similar conversation with the church …." I raised an eyebrow to emphasize my point.

He smiled at me when he understood my meaning, "All right. I'm not perfect – I admit that. Though, I wasn't completely wrong about you – only underestimating."

"Underestimating? On what grounds?"

"Your potency; you're not a magnet for accidents – that's not a broad enough classification. You're a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you." His tone was teasing, but I knew he meant what he'd said.

Habitually, I cupped my right hand over the scar on my left wrist. There lay the proof – well, one evidence – of his statement. "I can't truthfully argue – especially considering my … history."

His eyes flickered to my hands for a moment before returning to mine, "In fact, I'm beginning to think that one could track your residency simply by examining the devastation of accident and crime rates in a given location."

I flinched. This was true. I hadn't ever stopped to think about it, but there was no denying his claim. I always had brought misery and pain with me. Ever since the day I was born ….

"Quite unintentional, I assure you." My words were hollow, sad.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you," his hands moved toward mine a few inches before he realized their progress and stopped it.

"None taken," I assured him.

As I looked across the table, I examined my current predicament. The conclusions were solid, irrefutable. Danger was drawn to me and, likewise, I seemed drawn to it. The manifestation of this was seated across the table from me wearing a long-sleeved white turtleneck sweater. Edward was a vampire. Vampires were inherently dangerous. Despite all that, I was attracted to him, enthralled even.

Even so, I didn't want to encourage his self-alienating tendencies. He'd risen above the instinctual urges of his kind to become more – to retain that thread of humanity lost to a majority of his brethren.

Meeting his eyes, I made the effort not to lose myself in the liquid warmth and slowly slid my hand back across the table toward where his rested, purposefully ignoring the half-hearted retreat.

Softly, carefully, I brushed my fingertips over the back of his hand. "Thank you."

The cold marble of his skin sent ripples of warning along the already sensitized nerve pathways to my brain. I suppressed the impulse to pull away, to flee. Instead, I forced the instinctual fear out of my mind and focused instead on the underlying waves of electric current seeming to emanate from whichever fraction of skin touched his.

"For what?" He didn't pull away, simply waited.

"You're better than you think you are, Edward. Twice now you've pulled me out of harm's way. If it were anyone else who'd done the rescuing, would you not consider them a hero?"

"Let's not try for three, agreed?" He was trying to make light of the situation but I knew a dodge when it was offered to me.

I grimaced but nodded. Was being my perpetual rescuer growing taxing?

He was silent for a few minutes, watching me. Something shifted within the golden depths of his eyes, solidified and he began to speak.

"I followed you to Port Angeles." The words were coming out quickly, as though he were afraid I would stop him from finishing. "I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before and it's much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes."

I felt the slow, satisfied grin spread across my mouth. If I'd been _ordinary_ I would have been concerned that he'd been following me around. However, knowing what I did about him, I was only amused, intrigued. Subsequently, I wondered if he, too, had been experiencing the same nagging tension and curiosity about me that I'd come to harbor about him.

"Well, it probably goes without saying that I'm not ordinary." I gave him a significant look. "Nevertheless, did you ever consider the possibility that you're interfering with Fate – first with the van and then tonight?"

"The van wasn't the first time." His eyes dropped to stare at the dark maroon tablecloth and his shoulders hunched as though confessing some horrible secret. "It was the day I met you."

My breathing sped and I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face. Images of our first Biology class were flashing before my eyes. I could clearly remember that look.

So, I'd been right without understanding why. My subconscious had recognized the danger my conscious mind couldn't.

_Calm down_, I reminded myself. There was nothing to be afraid of, now. The past was gone and unchangeable. Moreover, Edward hadn't _done_ anything. The proof lay in the existence of this conversation. If he'd been the monster my instincts were afraid of, I wouldn't be here to _be _afraid. Worst of all was his determination to see himself as the monster he'd resisted being. Every living thing on this planet had instincts. It was our ability to overcome them, to think beyond their influence that distinguished us from the rest of life.

I schooled my features and inhaled deeply, using his scent to calm my skittering nerves. When he looked up after a few moments, only the tightening of my eyes would reveal the concern I felt.

"You remember?" He seemed confused, uncertain.

"Yes," my voice was level, calm. I understood _completely_.

"And yet here you sit," he spoke as though pointing out some inherent contradiction.

"Yes, here I sit … because of you." I tried to imbue my gaze with serenity and sincerity.

He simply stared at me, as though he were seeing some sort of incomprehensible math equation.

It was time to shift the subject. I commiserated with his guilt and shame over the instincts he only just managed to control – instincts he likely still fought every time he came near me – but I still needed answers. I wasn't willing to allow myself to be sidetracked.

"Because, somehow, you were able to find me today ...?"

He glanced down at the cooling plate of pasta on the table in front of me, "You eat. I'll talk."

I didn't bother thinking. I simply picked up my fork, speared a ravioli, and put it in my mouth. I chewed mechanically, waiting for him to begin.

"It's harder than it should be – keeping track of you," he told me, his shoulders tense. "Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before."

He stopped and carefully scrutinized my face. He was waiting for the panic to set in.

I was working to hold it back.

It was true. Edward _was_ telepathic – at least where a majority of the population was concerned. Why couldn't he hear me? What was _wrong_ with me? _He _hadn't been able to either ….

I blinked the disturbing train of thought away, swallowed the mouthful of food I'd forgotten about, and scooped up another bite.

An odd look flashed across his features, gone so fast I couldn't identify it.

"I was keeping tabs on Jessica," he went on after a moment of silence. "Not carefully – like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles ..." he gave me a teasing smirk. "And at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you along the boardwalk. You hadn't given her any clues about your destination, so that worked against me. When I realized you'd veered off to the south, I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street – to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried … but I was strangely anxious …." His breathing picked up and the tension returned to his body – like a cat poised to spring.

"I started to drive in circles, still … listening." He glanced at me to make sure I understood.

I nodded.

"The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out, and follow you on foot. And then …" His flowing confession came to an abrupt halt. Danger, violence roiled behind the golden hue of his intense eyes.

"And then …?" My voice was little more than a whisper. I knew what had happened – an eight year old could have figured it out. He'd caught a glimpse into _Lonnie's_ mind – if one could classify that gaping chasm of deviant thought a mind.

"I heard what they were thinking," he spoke through his teeth, the words coming out in a low, throaty growl. "I saw your face in his mind."

In a move so swift another would have missed it, Edward's hand came up from underneath the table to cover his face. If it had been anyone but him, I would have assumed he was trying to block out the monstrous images of the alleyway criminals from his mind. However, it was Edward. He wasn't concerned with forgetting what he'd gleaned – that wasn't likely to ever happen. No, he was trying to hide his expression from me.

"It was very … hard – you can't imagine how hard – for me to simply take you away, and leave them … alive," he whispered. His breathing was slowing – a concerted effort on his part. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them."

There was a faint hollow aching in my chest as I listened to him admit to desiring the demise of my would-be attackers. I couldn't blame him – I wanted them to pay, too. He tried so hard to be good. It seemed as though my presence did little besides complicate matters for him. If I weren't around, he wouldn't be compelled to protect me. He wouldn't have any reason to want those men dead.

Finally, after long minutes of silence, Edward looked up from his hand. Meeting my eyes, I could see the resignation, "Are you ready to go home?"

"I'm ready to leave," I qualified. Our conversation had turned too … personal to continue in the current venue. We would need more privacy before further expounding could be done – and more was needed. I still needed answers.

The waitress appeared from around the corner, brandishing a black folder in her hand. I'd missed her approach while listening to Edward's confessions. I wondered how much she'd heard.

"How are we doing?" She asked Edward – again, ignoring me.

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Edward's eyes stayed on my face. His voice was liquid honey; sweet, smooth, and utterly enticing.

The woman's breathing spiked and she stuttered her response, "Sure. Here you go." Her hands shook slightly as she handed him the bill.

Edward never looked inside the folder. Instead, he handed her some money he already had ready, "No change."

The waitress recovered quickly, giving Edward an unnecessary – and unseen – smile, "You have a nice night."

I stood when he did, trying not to give her a condescending smirk. It wasn't really her fault that she found Edward so attractive – it seemed like everyone was subject to his charms.

Pointedly ignoring the collective rise in estrogen levels as we passed through the main dining floor, a thought flitted through my head. Every woman in this room was jealous of me. Every single one of them looked at Edward – walking close by my right side, his jacket wrapped about my shoulders – and assumed that we were a couple. What did they see when they looked at him – a model, an angel? They must have wondered what he saw in me – I did.

Edward held the glass door open for me as we left the snug little restaurant. Walking past him, I contemplated what it would have been like to actually be out on a date with him. I'd never had the opportunity, when I'd been … normal. My strict Catholic upbringing hadn't lent itself to dating – not that I'd known many boys in my age-range whom I wasn't related to, anyway. If this had been an actual date, I would have dressed up – primped and polished so that I wouldn't have looked so out of place beside him. As it was, I was still dressed for school. I knew I wasn't unattractive – the plethora of _interested_ teenage boys proved that – but neither was I on the same level as Edward.

_This isn't a date, _I reminded myself with a sigh. Jessica's 'first-kiss' stage flitted through my mind and I tried not to let Edward see the flush that colored my cheeks.

* * *

><p>In no time we were weaving through the nighttime traffic toward the highway. Edward didn't speak again until the lights of the boardwalk had faded away.<p>

"Now it's your turn." He reminded me.


	9. Chapter 9: Theories

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_ **- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight_ **or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on and getting this back to me so fast!

Well, now that I feel sufficiently wicked, I've decided to go ahead and put this up (my Beta was UBER EXCELLENT and gave it back to me at the same time I got Chapter 8).

Now that the whole 'Edward's telepathic' conversation has been started, how will Lily finish it? Also, how is she going to break the news to Edward that she knows all about him? Find out in this installment of _From Dusk Until Dawn_! (I've always wanted to do that ... ;P)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9:<strong>

"Not until you finish," I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a level look.

"You said you'd tell me in the car."

"That was contingent upon you _answering_ my questions, Edward. You've managed to avoid a majority of them thus far. I'm not going to fulfill my end until the conditions have been met on yours." I was adamant. I'd be revealing more than enough to compensate for the measly answers I'd asked for. Our conversation was a give and take. It was time for him to give.

A low, irritated sound emanated from his throat as he glanced at my stoic face, "Fine. What is it you wanted to know again?"

"How your telepathy works. Does it require physical contact or is it distanced – and at what range? How specific is it – is it images, words, feelings? Is it genetic or have you … developed into it? What about the rest of your family – are they also telepathic?"

He took a deep breath, staring out over the steering wheel.

"No," his voice was quiet, resigned. "It's just me. I don't really know _how_ it works – it just does. I don't need physical contact – I can always hear it. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's … 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." He paused as though trying to figure something out, "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It's just a hum – a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out – it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem _normal_," he grimaced, "when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"What are your limitations? Can you read every thought someone has ever had?"

"No. I only catch what's passing through their mind at the exact time I'm listening. People usually think in words, phrases, but sometimes there are images. Feelings are always there – they tinge the words and the images. I can sometimes catch glimpses into things that happened before – but that only happens when people's minds reference past events." He didn't look at me. I could tell he was making an effort to make me understand his explanations.

"What about daydreams? Can you tell the difference between those and actual memories?" This was a curiosity for me. Did he pick up on the myriad of hormone-fueled fantasies that swam through the minds of those around him?

He huffed and I could see his eyes roll, "Yes. There's always an undercurrent to things. Pictures generated by imagination are … fuzzy, indistinct – for most people. Someone with a particularly vivid imagination might create clearer images but the feelings and subconscious thoughts accompanying them are distinguishable."

"Have you always been able to do this?" How long had he been burdened with this ability? Had he been able to read minds _before _he'd … changed?

"For most of my life," There was an odd emphasis to the last word.

"I'm sorry," I was. How long had he been alive? His answer hadn't been specific enough to distinguish origin but I felt I'd intruded enough.

He shrugged, "I've learned to deal with it."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" This was crucial to me. _He _hadn't been able to _read _me either. I wondered what it was about me that prevented that intrusion.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I've never met anyone else like you. The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." His tone was thoughtful, though there was a teasing undercurrent.

_Doesn't work the same way, _I thought dolefully. Of course it didn't. My … _life_ didn't work the same anymore. Why would my brain? Italy had changed me completely.

"I guess I'm just a freak." I tried not to let the hurt I felt penetrate my voice.

"I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're _the freak," he laughed.

I looked at him and attempted a smile. It was the first time I'd ever considered that Edward might be just as … _freakish_ as I was.

"Don't worry," he reassured me. "It's just a theory …. Which brings us back to you."

My teeth claimed my lower lip and I could feel the furrowing of my brow.

"Honestly, I'm not sure where to start …." The only thing that was clear was my reluctance to bring up the Quileute werewolves. I wasn't sure whether they'd contacted the Cullens about the breach but I knew I didn't want to be the bearer of that news, if they hadn't. How could I explain my knowledge otherwise? I'd admitted that I hadn't come up with it on my own but that left the aiding factor unclear.

"Why don't you start at the beginning? You said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No," I admitted and fell silent again. My brain was working at a million miles a minute.

"What got you started – a book? A movie?"

"No, not exactly. It's kind of … complicated." I _hated_ that word. It was horribly underestimating. This was more than _complicated_. It was closer to _unbelievable_.

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" He asked quietly.

"Yes." I looked up at his face, "It's not that. It's just …," My teeth reclaimed my lip.

How to describe … everything?

"I won't laugh," he promised.

"That's not the problem. I'm more concerned that you'll be upset with me."

"Is it that bad?"

"I think so," my voice was little more than a whisper. My stomach had started churning, manipulating the few bites of ravioli I'd consumed into nausea. A quick glance out the window did nothing to quiet my stomach. "Can we pull over, please?"

"What's wrong?" Edward slowed the car and pulled to the shoulder of the highway.

"I'm fine," I popped the door open and stepped out into the night air.

Edward's door opened and he was by my side incredibly fast.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths as I tried to overcome the wave of queasiness. It took a few gulps of air before the feeling began to subside. In the aftermath, I could feel the faint burning of remembered pain tingling in my left wrist and right shoulder.

"Lily? Are you all right?" Edward's voice was worried but he made no move to touch me.

"Yes," I opened my eyes and met his golden gaze. In that instant, my options came to me – a way to explain my knowledge without alienating the pack of angry shifters. "How much do you know about me, Edward?"

He was confused – it was written plainly on his face. My question hadn't been what he was expecting, "What do you mean?"

"You can read minds, right? Can you read your father's?" I slowly began pushing the sleeve of my royal purple blouse up my left forearm.

"Yes." He was cautious, uncertain of my path.

I nodded, "You were there when he was making his rounds. What did you learn?" The sleeve was high enough that the pair of raised crescent scars would be plainly visible were I to tilt my wrist up to the moonlight.

"Your readings were a little unusual though you appeared to have no concussion or resulting injuries …," he was slow in answering.

"Anything else?"

"Lily, what are you trying to tell me?"

I turned from him and paced toward the rear of the car. This wasn't going well. I wasn't being specific enough. Maybe I needed to take another route.

"Do you remember that I told you I was adopted?"

He nodded.

"And I told you that my family died a long time ago – that I really didn't remember much?" My right hand instinctively rose to rub the suddenly tense muscle between my right shoulder and neck.

"Yes," he tilted his head to the side.

"That's not … _exactly_ … true."

"Okay."

I covered my face with my hand, sighing with frustration. Why was this so hard to say? _Edward, I know you're a vampire. I lost my _actual _family to a coven, so I know what I'm talking about._ My throat seized up as I thought these words. Saying them aloud would take more nerve than I currently possessed. "… this isn't working …."

I heard the gravel crunch under his feet as he took a step toward me, "What isn't working, Lily? What's the matter?" His voice was full of concern. He didn't understand what I was hinting at and my agitation was only increasing his worry.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Even out in the open air, the scent lingering in the fabric of his leather jacket was distinguishable. This may very well be the last time I encountered it – or him.

When I opened my eyes, he was a foot from me, hovering protectively near the back door of the car, "I'm trying. This isn't easy for me, so bear with me, please."

He nodded, "I can do that."

"I've been watching you – all of you – for weeks. At first, I didn't connect what I was seeing – it was … different but not alarming."

He opened his mouth but I raised a hand to stop him, asking him silently to allow me to finish.

"It took me a little while to link everything together, to compare it to my own … _knowledge_." I closed my eyes for a quick breath before looking again at his face – now frozen in a weary semblance. "You've worked very hard to fit in, but it's all there: your skin, movements, speed, strength, eyes, and you never eat or drink anything."

He was tense and yet frozen solid – so like the marble his skin resembled, "Lily, what …?"

I shook my head to stop him.

"Do you know that I nearly ran away after the first day I met you?"

There was a visible flinch in his facial muscles and he shook his head.

"At the time, I didn't understand what it was about you. The signs were all there, hidden, disguised but I didn't see them until after the accident. Even then, it took …," I didn't want to admit to the wolves' involvement so I took another route. "Time … to piece together. You're so different."

In spite of the seriousness of the subject I smirked. Even I'd been fooled by their façade at first.

"And now I know – part of me has known all along."

"Know what?" His voice was terse and came out from between his clenched teeth.

I shook my head despairingly, "I know what you are, Edward."

"Say it."

I simply looked at him. Was he serious?

"Say it, Lily." He was still frozen, all except his lips.

_Vampire_, I thought mournfully. I knew he couldn't hear me but I found uttering the word aloud difficult.

"Out loud," he clarified as he stepped closer to me.

I took a breath, steadying my voice before speaking, "Vampire."

If I hadn't been staring into his amber eyes, I would have missed the reaction. The word was as painful for him to hear as it was for me to say.

"Are you afraid?" His eyes raked my expression as his question sank in.

Was I? I should be. Part of me was – the sane, logical, survival-inclined part. But that part wasn't in control of me any longer. I'd abandoned sanity and reason on that fallen tree in the woods Sunday afternoon.

So, if logic and reason weren't reliable evidence, what else could I use? I really only had one option – my body. It had been right all along, warning me of danger my head couldn't yet understand. Carefully, I delved into the murky waters of my physical reactions.

Adrenaline. The drug-like substance coursed sweet and swift through my veins heightening awareness, keening eyesight and hearing, tensing muscles, speeding heart rate. I'd become so accustomed to its presence in my system – almost as though I _needed_ it. It had been long months since I'd gone without some situation or another triggering a dosage. Absently, I wondered if, when this was all over, my body would ever be able to function properly without its flighty surge.

Was I scared? Yes – no denying it. Every nerve in my body was sensitized, every muscle tensed. Even so, there was more to it than simple fear. The strange ambience surrounding my head warranted more than offhanded dismissal. Lucidity should have been lost to the warring of logic, memory, and desire. It wasn't.

Calm radiated from the same far-distant portion of my brain that created the muted clanging of warning bells. The two contradictory signals were confusing and yet perfectly in harmony – as though to add depth and purpose to the physical reactions I was experiencing.

Translation? I was scared – terrified, really … physically. Mentally, I was perfectly serene, accepting. Emotionally? Conflicted – that was as accurate a term as I could supply.

So, what did all of this mean? How could I be frightened of Edward physically but not mentally? Had I grown so _used_ to the idea that I would die up here in the sodden Olympic Peninsula that I was unable to react with surprise?

I breathed deeply through my nose as I examined Edward's tense, brilliant golden eyes in the moonlight. The faint glow lent a supernatural aura to his reddish hair – akin to that of a mythical guardian angel. At that instant, the breeze changed directions, wafting the enticing scent off his skin right into my face.

Immediately, my sight was obscured by a memory. Long white arms stretched out on either side of mine, braced to accept the impact of the blue wall sliding toward us.

"_Lily, are you all right?"_ His voice, filtered through my memory, came back to me thick with worry.

With a gasp, the memory shifted. A shiny silver car barreling down a narrow alleyway – reminiscent of a white horse from a fairytale.

"_Get in, Lily!"_ Again, his words echoed back to me.

Clarity washed over me as I viewed these images. Now I understood why I was so conflicted. I wasn't afraid of Edward physically _or_ mentally. My fear stemmed from something else entirely – something I knew both far too well and not nearly well enough.

"Yes," my voice was breathless as the confession slipped out.

He froze, becoming still as a statue.

"And no."

His gaze turned questioning but his facial muscles never moved.

"I have every reason to be frightened – all things considered …."

"What do you mean 'all things considered'?" His voice was quiet but firm.

I pushed the tanned sleeve of his jacket up my left arm and tilted my wrist such that the raised pair of pasty white scars was clearly illuminated in the haunting moonlight.

His eyes flickered to my exposed skin but he didn't speak.

"You've known for weeks, Edward – ever since the accident. There's no way your father could have missed it during his exam – even _human_ doctors sometimes notice them. More so, there's no way you could have missed hearing about it."

His eyes returned to mine but he didn't speak. He simply examined my expression with clinical precision.

"I thought so," I lowered my arm back to my side. "So – all things considered – I am frightened. But not of _you_."

"Why not?" The words sounded as though they had been ripped up his throat from deep within.

"You aren't going to hurt me."

"What makes you so certain?"

"Because you haven't already."

"Complacency is dangerous, Lily. How do you think we survive? We're attractive to our pray. Everything is designed to draw you in – my scent, my face, my voice …."

"Don't," I held up my hand to stop him. He wasn't taking me seriously – or he didn't want to believe I was so sure. "You'd have done it long ago, if that was your intention – you've had more than ample opportunity. Conversely, you've put an exorbitant amount of effort into ensuring my continued existence."

"And?"

"Edward," why was this so hard for him to understand? "It doesn't matter to me _what_ …."

I only got that far before he interrupted.

"It doesn't _matter_?" His sneering tone was filled with anger.

"No."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_?"

"No."

He fell silent though I could swear the mental dialogue was just barely out of hearing. Staring at his face I began to realize that maybe I'd been too forward. I'd been walking the thin line between utter frankness and 'need to know' all night. Perhaps I'd stepped too far over ….

I waited a good thirty-count in my head before I figured he wasn't going to say any more.

"We should probably get back in the car …." I didn't want to go home. This nagging feeling of final goodbyes was playing around the outskirts of my mental reality and I didn't like it. Now that the bat was out of the belfry – _har har _– I wasn't ready for him to fly away.

Without a word he turned and opened my door.

Tentatively, I got in. What had I done?

* * *

><p>Three miles down the road I found my voice, "I'm sorry."<p>

"You're _sorry_?" He looked at me incredulously.

I really had stuck my foot in my mouth …. I nodded unable to speak again.

"What are _you _sorry for?" The strange emphasis confused me.

"You're angry. I shouldn't have said anything." The sharp pressure of my teeth kneading my lip helped keep me from doing two unforgivable things – blabbering incoherently and crying.

"No." He paused for a moment, "I'd rather know what you're thinking – even if what you're thinking is insane."

The pause made me catch my breath. But it was the last that caused me to lose it again.

"Please save the denials for someone with less hands-on experience, Edward." I couldn't believe he was even attempting this after our exchange outside the car.

"That's not what I was referring to!" His teeth clenched together and he spat the next words out in a scathing tone, "'It doesn't matter'!"

I rolled my eyes slightly – couldn't help it. "No, it doesn't – and I'd appreciate it if you'd quit harping on it. Derision is unattractive on _anyone_."

His amber eyes flickered to my face, reading the annoyance – I hoped. "What should we talk about then?" His tone was softer than before, as though he'd seen something unsettling in my expression.

"Well ...," how could I lead into this with any form of grace? "I do have some questions – clarifications, really – that I'd like to have answered … if you're willing."

"What do you want to know?" His voice lacked inflection or interest now. It was as though he'd resigned himself to something both disagreeable and utterly unimportant.

"How old are you?" This was a minor curiosity. The knowledge would add only a layer to the pile I was already building inside my head.

"Seventeen." His response was automatic – and untrue.

I smirked despite myself. I understood all too well the intricacies of rote-by-necessity.

"Fine," Patronization tinged my tone. "How long have you _been_ seventeen?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward feigning that breathtaking crooked smile I loved, "A while."

Apparently, this was privileged information, "As you wish."

This next section was a little more … interesting. Some things I knew from my time in Italy, some I'd come to after _years_ of contemplation. Worrying my lower lip I eyed him. If I was _lucky_ he would take me seriously and not laugh. However, I didn't think that was likely. Even so, the information could be invaluable to me. My life might someday hinge on what I learned over the course of this car ride.

"Is that it?" He seemed confused. My silence appeared to be having no better effect on his peace of mind than it was on mine.

"No. This next part is just a little …. Just don't laugh, all right?"

His grimace made it seem as though nothing I said tonight would be cause for laughter.

"How is it you can come out in the daytime?"

He laughed anyway, "Myth."

I gulped, "All vampires can do it?"

He nodded.

Then I'd been very lucky …. "But I thought the sun would burn you."

"Myth."

I already knew crucifixes did nothing. Being awake in the daytime I'd known, too. _He'd_ engaged in some of his less brutal experiments during the days. Night was always the worst … when everyone was asleep ….

I shook myself mentally, feeling a chill run down my spine, "Do you sleep in a coffin or in the ground?"

"Myth." He paused thoughtfully, "I can't sleep."

My eyes widened, "At all?"

"Never," he breathed.

_That_ explained a lot.

He turned his face to look at me. Butterscotch irises of hauntingly pale beauty bore into mine, seeking something.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet," his voice was full of emptiness tinged with anger.

I blinked, trying to figure out what he was eluding at. What could he mean? I already knew about the mind-reading, the strength, the speed … what more was there? I carefully went over the data I'd been gathering. What had I missed?

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" The question was blunt, hard.

Food. They never ate or _drank_ anything. "Oh. That." My voice was quiet. Now I was in trouble. How could I explain knowing that the Cullens only fed on animals _without_ bringing the Quileute werewolves into it? It wasn't like there were published records of the Quileute legend somewhere that I could quote.

"Yes, that. Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I cringed back into the seat and a brief flicker of satisfaction crossed his features. "No."

"No? You don't care if I drink _human_ blood, Lily? You don't care that I could be killing _innocent people_ for food?" He was angry again.

"That's not what I said …."

"Clarify."

"No, I don't want to know if you drink blood. I _know_ you drink blood." I felt the remembered burn of pain prickling at my scars and I rubbed my wrist absently.

"And?"

"I have a theory about that, too." Well, as far as he knew, my theories were a dime a dozen. Now I needed to think fast.

"Go on."

"You – your whole family have chosen to live among humans. You spend every day among us. You've been in Forks for two years now and no one suspected what you were until I came. If you fed on _human_ blood, I don't think you could do that so flawlessly."

He waited for me to continue.

"You don't look the same as other vampires, either. Your eyes are yellow. Theirs are red. I think that's a result of your diet. They feed on human blood. You feed on some other kind of blood – which means animal."

This was actually making sense to me. The words were meant as little more than a cover-up – a smokescreen – but they rang true. Had I looked at it from this perspective before I'd heard the story from the Quileutes, I might have come to the same conclusion.

"You are observant, aren't you?" The unwilling smirk on his face helped to solidify my resolve.

"Am I right?"

"Yes. We drink animal blood."

I smiled in triumph. I'd managed to convince myself that my theory was both plausible and accurate based on the provided data.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though," he was quick to rebuttal. "There's a reason humans are afraid of us. We are still dangerous."

"What do you mean?" It was true he was still physically stronger and faster than any human out there but I didn't grasp what that had to do with his diet.

"We try. We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

_With me_. Of course. They hadn't been able to resist either. Animal blood wasn't the Cullens' natural food – human blood was. Vegetarians can go their whole lives without eating meat but that didn't mean a tasty steak wasn't appealing to them, too.

"This is a mistake?" I needed clarification before I allowed myself to despair. Was this really the last I would see of him? The lights of Forks were coming into view, glowing faintly over the tops of the trees.

"A very dangerous one."

He was only being truthful. How could I fault him for that?

It was a few moments before I could compose myself enough to speak. Traitor tears were stinging at the corners of my eyes and it was getting hard to breathe.

"Tell me more."

"What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested. It mattered, immensely, but I couldn't bring myself to care as much as I should. My attentions were otherwise occupied with keeping my outer calm.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster," he muttered.

"Animals aren't enough, though?" I wanted to be sure I understood his reasoning behind declaring our twilight rendez-vous a mistake.

"I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger – or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time." His voice grew lower as he spoke, taking on hints of shame. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

Ah. We'd hit the proverbial nail on the head, then. "It's very difficult for you now, isn't it?" It was less a question, more a statement of fact. _He'd_ had trouble resisting me, too.

He sighed, "Yes."

"Even when you've so recently eaten?" _Drank, drunk? _It didn't matter, I was aiming for something.

"What makes you say that?"

"The color of your eyes." I tried not to put undue emphasis on my source.

He waited.

"They change color with your feeding cycle; going from light gold – like tonight – to black."

"How do you know it has to do with feeding?"

"Its just something I put together after knowing you for a while."

"Explain more, please." He was tense again, as though I'd stumbled across some quirky _tell_ he didn't want publicized.

"Well, you see, your personality seems to go through cycles. When your eyes are light, you're generally in a better mood. When they're dark, you're crankier. People get like that when they're hungry. It's natural." _And apparently universal_.

He chuckled, "You really are observant, aren't you?"

"Careful," I warned teasingly.

"Of?" He was still smirking.

"That's the third time you've admitted that tonight. Too many times more and I might start to believe you." I flashed him a dazzling smile – something I rarely gave to anyone.

He laughed full on as the car started to slow. We were entering Fork's town limits and it wouldn't be prudent to continue at our previous speed.

"Were you hunting with Emmett this weekend?" It was a bit of a sudden change of direction but I wanted to know that I'd been right.

"Yes." He stopped laughing and his face took on a distinctly _nervous_ cast. "I didn't want to leave," he spoke slowly, carefully. "But it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

_I'd bet._ "Why didn't you want to go?"

He took a breath and turned to meet my gaze, "It makes me … anxious to be away from you." He paused again as though tasting the words for the correct flavor. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed."

My temper was quickly approaching the point of no return. His implication of complete and utter incompetence on my part was both unwarranted and completely fallacious. I'd survived for over _ninety years_! Granted, I'd experienced my share – and more – of life-threatening circumstances during that time but they were always _caused_ by someone else. I'd never purposefully placed myself into dire straits … until now. Nor had I ever courted danger. It had simply found me appealing ….

Before I could vocalize this internal rant, Edward corrected himself.

"Well, not totally unscathed," he amended.

His ratification threw my emotional rollercoaster through a loop and I was utterly sidetracked. "What?" How did he know I'd passed out on the road in La Push and hit my head? My hair _completely_ covered the small bruise still healing there and I hadn't mentioned anything to Julia.

"Your hands," he glanced down at my palms.

So did I. The mostly-healed scratches from the gravel had been forgotten moments after I'd removed the unnecessary bandaging in my car.

"I fell." I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud until Edward responded. My words were more meant to remind me that I _had _fallen and scraped my palms.

"That's what I thought," he smiled consolingly at me. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse – and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days."

_Three days? Where had he been on Monday?_

"Wait. Three days?"

"Yes."

"You didn't just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday." He sounded confused.

"Sunday …." There was a distinctly _irritated_ note to my voice. If he'd gotten back on Sunday, the _least_ he could have done was contact me to let me know he and his family hadn't simply dropped off the face of the planet!

"What?" He didn't understand.

"Where have you been for the last two days?"

"At home …," he was cautious, still not understanding the reason behind my anger.

"Why weren't you in school?" The _calmer_ approach was more prudent. Blowing up at him over his truancy wasn't really acceptable – nor was it my place to police his whereabouts. I would simply have appreciated knowing that I was going to see him again ….

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight, at least, not where anyone can see."

I was distracted. Can't be seen in the sunlight? Maybe that was why I'd gotten away …. I'd made my break at first light.

"Why?" I tilted my head to the side as I contemplated the possibilities. If the sun didn't burn them then … why couldn't they be seen? Lack of physical repercussions was the strongest deterrent I could think of. Barring that, the only other reason I could come to would be discovery. Was there something about the sunlight that revealed vampires for what they were? I eyed him speculatively as I imagined what he might look like under the sunlight. Did he sprout wings or fangs?

"I'll show you sometime."

"Okay," I was holding him to that promise. If he was going to show me his sunlight visage, he'd have to stick around long enough for the sun to come out again.

He cast me an unidentifiable look – amusement and … pain?

"You know, I would have appreciated a call." He wasn't getting off the hook so easy but at least I didn't feel the inclination to wring his neck.

"But I knew you were safe." Again he didn't understand. Either he was exceptionally dense or he wasn't used to people worrying about him.

"Well, I'm glad you knew that after not seeing me for _five days_. But you seem to forget that I'm not a mind reader. Just because you can check on me through – well anyone – doesn't mean I can do the same. Not knowing where you were – or _how_ – was –," I came to an abrupt stop. Admitting _that_ might be a little more than reckless. Weary of the effect his eyes had on me, I lowered my glance to my hands.

"What?"

_Agonizing …._ "Let's just say that I didn't like it." I could feel the warming of my cheeks and denied the compulsion to meet his eyes when I confessed, "Not seeing you, that is." I couldn't seem to stop the words from flowing now that I was started, "I was anxious the whole weekend. I didn't know if I'd see you again …."

With exceptional control I physically clamped my lips together to stem the river of revelations pouring from my core. What _was_ it with me and self-control whenever I was speaking to him? Every ounce I had acquired in over one hundred years seemed to evaporate with little provocation aside from his liquid voice, piercing eyes, or crooked grin. Lord, I was a sucker, wasn't I?

He froze, though a quick glance revealed the contemplative quality behind his amber eyes.

It was a few seconds before he spoke.

"Ah," he groaned and shook his head absently. "This is wrong."

"What?" _This?_

"Don't you see, Lily? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don't want to hear that you feel that way."

Another slap. _Of course_ he didn't want to hear that I felt that way. Why would he? We both knew nothing could come from this … twisted, convoluted relationship we were kindling. Even if something could, why would he _want_ to? It was ironic, really. He considered himself a monster because of _what_ he was. Whereas, I was worse. At least he _was_ something. Me, on the other hand, what was I? A freak.

"It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Lily – please, grasp that."

"I …," It was hard to speak. My inner turmoil was taking its toll. I knew he was right. He was still dangerous. But, to me, that didn't matter. I'd rather be in danger at his side then safe away from him.

"No." My tone was petulant at best, infantile at worst. I wasn't willing to let a little thing like his diet – all right, a _big_ thing – get in the way of what I felt. I'd had so little in my life worth being grateful for. Now that there was even the remotest possibility that I could have a reason to live, dubious as it was, I wanted it.

"I'm serious." The words came out as a growl from between his teeth.

"So am I," I insisted. "I told you already, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."

It was … for me. I'd admitted my feelings – if only to myself – and accepted the myriad of possible consequences.

"Never say that," he hissed.

This was more like a sucker-punch to my gut. My breath whooshed out in one swift gust and I couldn't seem to get it back. The message behind this assault was clear – he wasn't remotely interested and my childish insistence was little more than an annoyance.

I looked away from him, staring down at the clammy pastiness of my hands. This shouldn't hurt this much. I should have known better than to imagine more than morbid curiosity or nobility lay behind our interactions. Edward was a vampire. I was … less than human. There was nothing about me that could intrigue him in that way.

Exerting effort to keep my breathing and heart rate level, I willed the wetness pooling in my eyes away. No use crying over spilled perfume.

"What are you thinking?" Curious, as though my answer was somehow relevant.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice at that moment. Besides, he wouldn't want to hear my thoughts. They were just more of the same – anguish, longing, confusion.

"Are you crying?" His voice carried an unfamiliar tone. Agony, maybe? Or was it disgust?

Despite my attempts to stem the tide, I felt the cool trickles running down my cheek. I bit my lip and swiped the streams with the back of my hand.

"No," my voice broke, betraying the lie. Why was it that I could lie to everyone else but him?

From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand reach out toward me as though he wanted to offer comfort. But then, just as hesitantly, he lowered it.

"I'm sorry," he conceded through locked jaws.

I took a deep breath but didn't comment. There was no point in trying to lie. I wasn't all right. I knew I would be … eventually, but I didn't know when.

"Tell me something," he said.

"What?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression – you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

Blood flooded my cheeks as I remembered staring down my attacker, "I was concentrating."

"On what?"

"Defending myself. I wasn't going down without a fight." The embarrassment I felt at revealing my murderous intentions was minimal. Instead, I was lost once more to the anger, the hatred.

"You were going to fight them?" His tone was incredulous. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I … no." I'd tried to escape them in the beginning, when the lackeys had pursued me through the alleys of Port Angeles. Once I'd been cornered, though – seen inside his head – I'd abandoned all thoughts of flight.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was about to do that, when you pulled up." All right, so I was both naïve _and_ reckless. My bloodlust had overcome years of instinct and training. Then again … Edward thought I was much more breakable than I actually was.

He shook his head in disbelief and a sour edge crept into his tone, "You were right. I'm definitely fighting Fate trying to keep you alive."

We came to a halt at the first stop light in town and I glanced out the window. _What now?_ I thought. Was this the last time I was going to see him? Would he and his family disappear like the myths they were before sunrise? An ache started low in my stomach, twisting the muscles into hard knots.

When he turned onto my street, I decided I had to know. Waiting to find out would be worse than being able to say goodbye.

"Am I going to see you again?" It didn't come out exactly as I'd wanted, but it was close enough.

"Yes – I have a paper due tomorrow, too." He smirked conspiratorially at me. "I'll save you a seat at lunch."

My heart palpitated and it took effort to pull in my next breath, "You're certain?" I wanted assurance that he wouldn't simply vanish with the morning light.

"I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," I smirked and began removing my arms from his jacket sleeves.

"You can keep it," he told me. "You don't have a jacket for tomorrow."

I smiled ruefully, "And just how do you propose I explain it to Julia?"

"Oh, right." He smiled again and my head spun.

I reached for the door handle, fumbling through the haze of dizzying thoughts. I'd just turned my head to look for it, when he spoke again.

"Lily?"

"Yes?" _Ah-ha! There it was!_ Now that my hand was locked around the handle, I didn't want to leave. This evening had been such a … relief from the rest of my life. Edward was the first person I could talk to with whom I didn't have to feign ignorance. He knew more about the world of unknowns than I did. Would this all disappear tomorrow? I wasn't sure if we'd ever be able to converse like this again – freely, as equals. I didn't want to lose this.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes." I wasn't thinking before I spoke. The instant the word left my mouth I was wary. Never agree to an open-ended statement. They always had a way of coming back to bite you. I bit my lip warily and waited.

"Don't go into the woods alone," he warned me.

"The woods?" I was confused. What was so dangerous about the woods? "Why?"

He glanced out at the darkness over the steering wheel before answering me in a dark tone, "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

An unintentional shiver ran down my spine. No. He wasn't. The others of his race – others not like him were more dangerous to me. And I already knew that they found me … appealing.

"As you wish." The promise was barely above a whisper.

He sighed and looked into my eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then." I managed to get the door open.

"Lily?"

I turned only to find my face mere inches from Edward's. I froze as my heart went into overdrive.

"Sleep well," he whispered and leaned away.

It took me a few seconds before I could stumble my way out of the car. My legs had seemingly turned to jelly, needing the support of the car frame before solidifying. Once stable, I closed the door behind me and worked my way up to the front porch. When I slipped my key into the doorknob, I heard his car purr to life and I turned to watch it disappear into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** How's them cookies? Two updates in one day! I feel productive :D

Don't Forget to REVIEW! (It's like sending Christmas early)

Now, if only we could figure out why Edward isn't asking Lily about her own abnormalities ...

Food for thought ;P


	10. Chapter 10: Interrogations

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N**:I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Welcome back! I assume you all enjoyed the dual chapters I posted last week (seeing as how my view stats didn't go down for nearly the whole week). Well, I come bearing another.

In this chapter, we get to see how Lily deals with Jessica's snoopiness and Edward's resultant reactions.

Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10:<strong>

It was a little disconcerting to step back into the quiet, quaint home that was my everyday reality in Forks, WA. The fireplace was lit and the smell of popcorn drifted in from the kitchen.

"Hey, Lils." I cringed at the new variation on my nickname. She walked through the archway holding a bowl of freshly popped corn, "You're home early."

I glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that it wasn't yet eight, "Huh."

"Did you have fun?" She took a seat on the couch and turned to look at me.

Quickly, I tried to think back to the domesticity of the planned evening. Had it really been only a few hours since Jessica, Angela, and I had rummaged around the racks of a department store looking for dresses? It seemed like an eternity ago, "Yeah, it was great."

"That's good. Did you get anything?" She eyed my empty hands.

"Nope, I just critiqued." No use in telling her that I hadn't even been looking.

I worked my way into the kitchen, looking for the phone. Time to call Jessica about my jacket. With my luck, it'd be raining cats and dogs tomorrow morning.

Just as I reached it, the phone rang, "I've got it."

"Hello?"

"Lily?" It was Jessica.

"Hey, Jess. I was just about to call you …."

"You're home already?"

"Yeah." I didn't understand her tone – disappointment and smugness?

"Well?" Expectant, almost irritated.

Right, I'd told her I was about to call her. "I forgot my jacket in your car. Do you think you could meet me with it before class tomorrow?" Visions of snowdrifts eight feet tall and gusting winds flitted across my consciousness. My, I was pessimistic, wasn't I?

"Uh … sure." Her tone was reluctant, as though I'd yanked her off of her train of thought.

"Thanks," I wanted to hang up. I'd had more than enough for one night. I needed to sit down and soak it all up.

"So? What happened?" Impatience. So this was what she'd been after. She couldn't have cared less about the coat.

At that moment, Julia came into the kitchen.

"Lils, who is it?"

"It's Jessica. I forgot my coat in her car."

Jess heard the voice close by, "Oh, your aunt's there, huh?"

"Uh-huh." Hopefully, Julia's presence would stymie the quest for details.

"All right. We'll talk tomorrow in class, okay?" Jessica's voice was full of implications and I all but shuddered in fear.

"Okay …." This was not something I could look forward to.

The line went dead and I returned the receiver to its cradle. Julia refilled her glass and went back into the living room without another word.

_Thank God for small favors_, I thought as I watched her go. I was certain Jessica would have kept me on the phone all night were it not for Julia's timely interruption.

* * *

><p>For a change my dreams were just that – dreams. No monsters or pursuits just a random smattering of hopes and desires – primarily revolving around Edward, of course. When I woke – ten minutes after my alarm had started beeping – I barely remembered any of them.<p>

I was so accustomed to having ample time to get ready in the morning that I hadn't realized just how much I actually needed. I raced through a shower – the water hardly having time to heat up – and pulled my hair back into a haphazard bun at the nape of my neck. Finding clothes was more … taxing. A quick, and ultimately satisfying, glimpse out the window revealed a thick fog clinging stubbornly to the ground. My problem? Most of my clothes were designed to be worn in California. The only item I had which would offer any protection at all from the clammy wetness was an old blue sweater I'd used to sleep in. With any luck – and the presence of gloomy weather showed I had some reason to hope – Jessica would be waiting with my jacket outside school and I could ditch the sweater before too many people saw.

Another surreptitious glance at the clock revealed that I had just under fifteen minutes to get to school. Well, it was a good thing I wasn't a breakfast person. I yanked my book bag off my desk chair, the bleak weight nearly tipping me off balance, slipped into some shoes and headed for the door.

I was halfway across the yard before I realized that someone was parked in the driveway. Skidding to a halt on the slick grass, I turned to stare at the mist-colored vehicle idling on the gravel drive.

Quick as a thought, Edward emerged from the driver's side and moved around to hold the passenger's side door open for me, "Do you want to ride with me today?"

It took a split second for my brain to link the words together. Once I made the connection, however, there wasn't a chance I would pass this opportunity up. Something about the set of his jaw made me wonder if he hoped I would decline – that somehow, during the course of the night, I'd realized what he was and would want nothing more to do with him. If that was the case, he'd be sadly disappointed. I'd already made up my mind and there was little – if anything – he could do to change it.

I smiled up at him and nodded my head, "Thank you." Without hesitation, I climbed in.

Before I'd buckled the seatbelt, he was next to me. I smirked at his lack of reserve. Apparently, he'd decided that there was no more need for pretenses around me. I was grateful. Having to go back to pretending everything was normal would have taken more out of me than I'd care to admit. It would have been the final nail in the coffin of my hopes.

Turning slightly to click the metal clasp into place, I noticed his leather jacket slung carefully over the armrest. I eyed it with interest. Why wasn't he wearing it?

"I brought the jacket for you," he told me. "I didn't want you to get sick or something."

I smirked conspiratorially at him, but lifted the heavy garment onto my lap just the same, "I'm not quite that delicate, I assure you."

"Aren't you?" He was serious again and I just looked at him.

Not wishing to seem desperate or creepy, I tore my eyes away from the glory of his face, using the donning of his jacket as an excuse to look away.

"What, no twenty questions today?" He said in a teasing tone.

I laughed a little, "I thought it a bit early for interrogations." I used the excuse of conversation to return my eyes to him. Something about his guarded expression made me wonder. "If my questions are bothering you …" I let the thought trail away. He was intelligent enough to catch my meaning without needing me to complete the offer.

"Not as much as your reactions do." He was being honest again.

"Do I react so badly?" Quickly I scanned over my memories of the previous evening. The only disagreeable reaction I could remember having was the one where I began crying – unintentionally.

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly – it's unnatural." He frowned, "It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"What makes you think I'm not already telling you?"

"You edit."

"Perhaps a bit."

"Enough to drive me insane," he confirmed.

"It's nothing you want to know …," I whispered dismally and looked out the window. How could he? Anyone in their right mind – even a vampire – wouldn't want me pining away after them.

It fell silent in the car and I took this as a confirmation. Very well. I wouldn't subject him to that. If acquaintances were all he thought we could be, then I could keep my feelings to myself. I could revel in the limited acceptance I had and never again burden him with my unworthy desires.

As the quiet grew uncomfortable, I scanned around the car for something else to discuss. That's when I noticed that we were alone.

"Edward, where is the rest of your family?" The bottom of my stomach dropped out from beneath me. If he was saying goodbye, the others might already have left.

"They took Rosalie's car," he pulled in beside a shiny red convertible with the ragtop down. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

My eyes opened with wonder as I scanned the flawless exterior, "Wow." It really was a beautiful automobile – particularly to be parked in the Forks High School parking lot. "Why in the world does she ride with you, when she has that?"

All right, so my opinion of Rosalie was a little harsh. She reminded me of so many of the wealthy-to-do girls I'd encountered in the past. Shallow, vain, and utterly attention-seeking. It was probably unfair – never judge a book by its cover, and all – but I just couldn't seem to shake the feeling that Rosalie didn't appreciate sharing the spotlight.

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

I turned back to him and raked my gaze up and down his visage in an obvious way, "Sorry to tell you this, but you kind of stand out anyway." I laughed as I spoke, flashing him another of my genuine smiles. It really wasn't his fault – or any of theirs – that people noticed them.

He grimaced at me and I shrugged an apology.

"You know everyone in the school is going to be ogling that car all day, right?" I pointed over my shoulder at the vehicle in question.

He nodded and rolled his eyes slightly.

"So, why drive it, if it's counter-productive to your image?"

"Hadn't you noticed?" He opened his car door a crack, "I'm breaking _all_ the rules now."

I smirked at the conspiratorial glint in his eyes and opened my own door, though I had to work to avoid bumping the automobile enthusiasts surrounding the cherry chariot.

Once clear of the crowd, I walked beside him toward the campus. We were close – much closer than most acquaintances should be – and it took a measured amount of willpower to keep from reaching across the short distance to touch him. I'd set boundaries for myself and I was going to maintain them – no matter how hard it was.

In an effort to distract myself – and to feel less awkward as we walked through the throng of gawking bystanders – I breached the subject of cars once more. "If you're so intent on privacy, why own such cars in the first place?"

"An indulgence," he admitted. "We all like to drive fast."

"I'm sure," I mumbled a little sourly. I remembered only too well his 'need for speed' on our trip back from Port Angeles.

I glanced up to see Jessica huddled under the protective shelter of the cafeteria eaves, my jacket slung over her arm. I was so grateful that – for a moment – I didn't notice the look of befuddlement plastered upon her face. Internally, I groaned. Now I was in for it.

"Thanks, Jess. I appreciate it." I held my hand out for my jacket and she handed it over wordlessly. In all honesty, I wasn't sure she _could_ speak. Her blue eyes were playing pong – bouncing silently between Edward's face and my own.

"Good morning, Jessica." Edward's voice sounded like silken honey and I tried to remember that it wasn't his fault he was so appealing.

"Er … hi," Jessica mumbled, her eyes flashing to my face. "I guess I'll see you in Trig." The unspoken words behind her expression would have filled up several novels.

My shoulders slumped slightly and I nodded noncommittally, "Okay. See you then." For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I could talk Edward into taking me home … to hide.

If I was lucky, I'd just have to disconnect the phone line at home … and turn off my cell phone … and cancel my email account …. As I watched her jerkily wander away, I sighed with resignation. What in the world was I going to tell Jessica?

"What are you going to tell her?" Edward's gaze shifted down to examine my face.

I blanched for a quick moment, "I … I thought you couldn't hear me!" I was mortified. How long had he been able to hear my thoughts? Certainly not last night – else I might have to go find a cliff to throw myself off of. Even so, if something about me had shifted in the night, how much had he heard this morning?

"I can't," he stared at me in confusion.

Comprehension hit us both. We'd been thinking in unison.

"However," he said with a knowing look, "I can read hers – she'll be waiting to ambush you in class."

I groaned and allowed my bag to slide off my shoulder to the floor. Reluctantly, I slid my arms out of the now-warm sleeves of his jacket and handed it back to him. He was a little late in reacting – either I'd surprised him or he was still musing. Without thinking how it might look, I slipped my arms out of the blue sweatshirt and pulled the lumpy thing over my head. Chilled now, I slipped my arms into my own bio-suit and stuffed the unwanted article into my bag.

When I looked up, Edward had a peculiar expression on his face – something I couldn't at all identify.

"What?" I glanced down at my torso, enshrouded in the black coat and the white long-sleeved blouse – just a few shades lighter than my skin – that I'd been wearing beneath the sweater.

"Nothing." He sounded a bit … hoarse.

I scrutinized his face once more, but he'd managed to wipe it blank during my clothing inventory. Unsure what I'd done to yield the unrecognizable expression, I reached down and retrieved my backpack from between my feet.

"So, what are you going to tell her?" He pressed after a moment of silence.

I bit my lip and looked in the direction Jessica had gone in, "I haven't a clue. What does she want to know?"

I looked back in time to see him smile crookedly and shake his head, "That's not fair."

I glowered darkly at him, "On the contrary. You withholding information is unfair. How do you expect me to answer a question I haven't even heard?"

We started walking again. The English Building was a scant few meters from the cafeteria and I remained silent as Edward mulled over my retort.

When we paused outside the door, I turned to wait for his response.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating," he said slowly, pondering his words. "And she wants to know how you feel about me."

I'd been expecting as much. Girls like Jessica – perpetual gossips – always wanted to know these sorts of things. But how to answer her ….

"Well, that's a bit … intrusive." I had to work to keep from smirking, "Well, considering that it's your cover at jeopardy, what would you like me to tell her?"

"Hmmm." He reached out and plucked a stray hair from my shoulder, tucking it carefully back into the messy bun from which it escaped. My heart went into overdrive and I had to concentrate to keep from hyperventilating. I couldn't remember a time when someone had touched me and had garnered that type of reaction. It must just be because it was him.

"I suppose you could say yes to the first … if you don't mind – it's easier than any other explanation."

"That's quite all right with me." My heart was still beating erratically. Did he really think that I'd _mind_ pretending to date him? After all, it was my fault that his image had been altered. It was the least I could do. Moreover, the selfish side of me reveled in the idea of others thinking he was mine.

"And as for her other question," he broke out his breathtaking smile. "Well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself."

If I'd been a cartoon character, my jaw would have hit the floor. I gaped, open mouthed at him as he quickly turned and walked away from me.

"I'll see you at lunch," he called over his shoulder.

I wandered, half-dazed into English class and took my seat. My mind was racing in circles, whirling ever faster and faster around a convoluted track which wound in and out of endless possibilities. That was utterly unfair! How could Edward expect me to be candid with Jessica – on _any _level – with the threat of prying minds hanging over me? It wasn't as though I was planning on being particularly frank with her anyway. Now, however, I had to be even _more_ careful.

"Morning, Lily."

I glanced over at the sullen voice that had broken through my reverie. Mike's face held a note of awe … and resignation. "How was Port Angeles?"

"It was ..." Was there any way to cover everything that had happened with any honesty? Nope. Might as well stick with an easy lie. "Great."

He didn't seem satisfied with my answer, his mouth opening as though to ask for clarification.

I wasn't in the mood – nor did I have the time to spare – for idle chitchat. It would be better to divert him from this subject anyway. Discussion of my most-recent near-death experience would only serve to worry him. And there was _no way_ I would consider touching on the other events of the evening.

"Jessica got a really cute dress," I supplied, hoping to distract him.

"Did she say anything about Monday night?" His expression brightened significantly.

Pleased with my successful dodge, I smiled. "She said she had a really good time," I assured him. Now that Jessica was perfectly poised to take my place as the subject of this boy's fascination, I was all for keeping him focused on her.

"She did?"

"Yes."

Before Mike could ask for more information, Mr. Mason called for us to turn in our essays.

* * *

><p>The rest of English, and then Government, passed in a blur. It was lucky that most of the teachers had stopped calling on me in recent weeks. Else I might have been caught without the answer, my mind dawdling about unrelated matters.<p>

When the bell rang, signaling an end to second period, I slunk my way to the Math Building. Secretly, I hoped that Mr. Varner was being particularly prompt today. Starting class early and getting out late would have been just fine by me. It would have further limited the uncomfortable session I was about to spend under the interrogator's spotlight.

With a glum sigh of resignation, I dragged my reluctant feet into class. Jessica was seated in the back row, fidgeting so much that I was surprised there hadn't been an earthquake announcement. I swore I heard a squeak of excitement slip through her lips as I dropped my bag beside my desk and slumped into my seat.

With the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning, she latched onto my arm and squealed, "Tell me everything!"

It was a good thing my skin was thicker than most people's. Otherwise, I'd have been bleeding from the indents her fingernails were making. "Ouch, Jess."

Jessica loosened her grip but didn't remove her hand, "Well? Go on!"

I closed my eyes, "There really isn't much to tell …."

"What happened last night?" Her words were coming faster than normal.

There was just no getting out of this.

"We ran into each other, he took me to the restaurant, bought me dinner, and took me home."

There. That about summed it up.

"How did you get home so fast?" Her voice was full of suspicion.

Honestly, what did she think we'd been doing?

"He drives like a maniac. I swear we must have been over a hundred the whole way." I hoped he heard that. Even I didn't normally top one hundred on my car. Eighty, ninety, ok. One hundred? Rarely.

"Was it like a date – did you tell him to meet you there?"

_Meet me there? _When did she think I'd had a chance to tell him to meet me anywhere?

"No." I shook my head for emphasis, "I was just as surprised to run into him as you were."

"But he picked you up for school today?" She was fishing … in an empty pond.

"That was a surprise, too. He noticed that I didn't have my jacket last night."

Mr. Varner sauntered into the room and I turned my attention toward him. Class started but he wasn't paying much attention and we weren't the only students still chattering away.

"So are you going out again?" She demanded.

Again? When had we _gone out_ the first time?

"I don't know …." I searched around in my head for something more to offer, "He offered to drive me to Seattle next weekend because he thinks my car won't make the trip – does that count?" I suppressed a smirk. _My _car would make the trip. _Alex's_ old T-Bird might not.

She thought for a second, "Yes."

"Well, I guess that means yes."

"Wow …," she strung the word out into three syllables. "Edward Cullen." Her hands fanned at her face, making a poor imitation of a swoon.

"You're telling me," I hadn't meant to let that slip. I had been thinking it and it just sort of … came out.

"Wait!" Jessica's hands flew up into a stopping motion and her voice hitched up an octave. "Has he kissed you?"

I felt my eyes fly wide in shock for a moment. Is that what she thought we were doing?

For a fleeting moment, my head filled with an image of Edward's face hovering down to kiss mine and I flushed crimson.

"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that." And it never would be. So I could just stop it with the daydreams now. Suddenly, I was beyond grateful that I was the one person Edward couldn't hear.

"Do you think Saturday …?" Jessica prodded, letting the suggestion trail off into silence.

"I highly doubt it." I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to set my face into an unreadable mask.

"What did you talk about?" Jessica leaned forward and lowered her voice as she realized Mr. Varner was lecturing.

Yeah, right. Like there was _any way_ I'd let her in on the secret.

"Lots of stuff, Jess. We talked about the English essay a little."

A very, _very_ little. I think he might have mentioned it in passing right before he left.

"Please, Lily! Give me some details."

I sighed and scanned the evening for something non-vital to tell her. The only thing I could think of was about the staff at the restaurant.

"Well … okay, how's this? Do you remember the staff at the restaurant?"

"Which ones?"

I rolled my eyes and struggled to remind her of the people she'd encountered, "The blonde hostess and the brunette waitress?"

Jessica nodded noncommittally. I think she was simply trying to get me to move on.

Internally, I groaned.

"Well, you should have seen the way they were flirting with him – it was ridiculous."

"And?"

"Well, he didn't pay any attention to them. Just acted as if he didn't see them."

Jessica's eyes lit up and she leaned a little closer, "That's a good sign. Were they pretty?"

"Very." If you liked dyed hair and fake eyelashes …. Okay, I was biased. "And they were both older, like nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. He must like you." Jessica's hands fluttered again.

Time for more vagueness.

"_Perhaps_," I spoke slowly, tasting the words before I let them out. "He's so … cryptic that it's hard to tell." If he _ever_ answered a question with a plain response, I might have a heart attack and die.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," Jessica removed her hand and cupped the side of her neck.

Shock flashed across my mind. How much did Jessica know – or even suspect about the Cullens?

"What do you mean?" I whispered the words, trying hard not to put undue emphasis on them.

"He's so …," she paused, searching for the right word. "Intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him." Her lips turned down at the corners and I remembered her vaguely muttered greeting from this morning.

I smirked commiserating with her and shrugged, "I wouldn't say _intimidating_," there was no way I would admit to that. "But I do occasionally have trouble forming thoughts when he's around."

"Oh well," Jessica sighed and winked at me. "He is unbelievably gorgeous." She shrugged as though his beauty was enough to excuse any number of flaws – which in her book, it likely did.

My conspiratorial feelings melted away and I found myself working not to glower at the naïve girl. "There's more to him than a pretty face, you know."

"Really? Like what?" She sounded as though she didn't believe me.

I wished I had let the slight go. How could I explain the wonder that Edward was without being able to discuss his unique circumstances? Even if I were able to bring up his … condition, this girl would never be able to see the miracle that was a vampire who chose to save lives rather than end them. All she would ever see, if she found out, was a monster. How could someone so … shallow ever conceive of depth within another?

"I don't know if I can really explain it …," I tried to buy myself time to think.

Jessica just stared expectantly at me.

Closing my eyes, I settled for a hint – an illusion – that would keep her guessing and yet convey my belief that he was more than simply a perfect visage.

"Take my word for it, he's even more unbelievable _behind_ the face."

"Is that possible?" Jessica giggled.

Mr. Varner had begun calling on pupils for answers and I didn't want to be caught unawares. I turned my head and focused on him, trying for all the world to appear to be engrossed in what he was saying.

Jessica, however, wasn't ready to be brushed off.

"So you like him, then?"

My breath caught for a second and I hissed out an answer – quietly as I could. "Yes."

"I mean, do you _really_ like him?"

_Mon Dieu, but she was nosy!_

"Yes," I whispered again, this time feeling the flush of embarrassment cover my cheeks.

"How _much_ do you like him?" She demanded.

Damn her and her incessant curiosity! Couldn't she just be satisfied with my one-word answers and my obvious discomfort? Couldn't she understand that there may be things I didn't want to talk about with her – particularly when _Edward_ was in her head?

I closed my eyes again and tried to gather my thoughts into a semi-coherent mass. It would do little good – and likely a lot of harm – were I to lash out and condemn her for her unwanted inquiries.

_Luck be damned! _I decided. If this embarrassment were going to take place then I may as well make it abundantly clear that I knew where I stood. Edward was listening and my answer would never escape his observation.

"More than I should!" I whispered again, leaning slightly in her direction so as to limit eavesdropping to my intended target and the sneaky vampire inside her head. "More than he likes me, though I don't see how I can help that."

Fairness finally kicked in and Mr. Varner called on Jessica to answer his question. As such, she wasn't able to revert back to her quizzing during the period. By the end of an hour, I'd managed to rearrange my mental faculties enough to go on the offense – no use in getting _more_ flustered before lunch ….

"Mike asked me if you'd said anything about your date."

"You're kidding?" Point to me. She was completely sidetracked. "What did you say?"

"That you'd said you had a good time." We walked out of the room, "He looked happy."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"

We spent the short walk dissecting sentence structure and discussing the minutest of details in facial expression. I was grateful when the warning bell rang and Jessica slipped off to her Spanish class.

* * *

><p>Pleased with my own cleverness, I slipped into my chair and waited for Mme. Goldfarb to begin her lecture. I wouldn't need to pay attention – she'd pretended I didn't exist after the first day. Instead, I numbly filled out more pages in my workbook while pondering what revelations Edward could come to from my limited answers to Jessica.<p>

I was nearly finished with my tenth page when I recognized the prickling sensation of being watched. Glancing up, I was immediately greeted by the dark eyes of Alice Cullen. Her pixie-like features were pulled into a speculative expression and she seemed to be scrutinizing my every action. When our eyes met, she smiled brightly at me. Shocked – and a little disconcerted – I smiled back. Did she know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that she knew that I knew or not?

We stared at each other for a few moments, weighing and measuring in our own ways. She was elegant – not nearly as much as Rosalie, but still more so than anyone else I'd met. Moreover, there was something … impish about her. The childlike quality I'd first attributed to her now morphed into a carefree sort of attitude. As though she were completely certain of where she was going and how she would get there.

For a moment, as her eyes raked over me, I wondered what she saw. Did she see just another human girl? Someone else who seemed infatuated with Edward? Or did she see something different in me? I wasn't exactly _normal_. Could she sense that? What did she think of her brother spending time – and effort – on a human girl?

As though to answer my questions, Alice turned her big dark eyes back to her own workbook. A little embarrassed by her sudden interest, I, too, returned to the menial task of filling out verb conjugations and properly labeling images.

A few minutes later, the bell clanged. As I tucked my nearly-complete workbook into my bag, I began to wonder what I was supposed to do now. Edward had said that he'd see me at lunch, but where were we supposed to meet? I wasn't really sure where his fourth period was. I probably could have asked Alice, but I reasoned that it would seem a little … peculiar.

I kneaded my lip as I contemplated my options. I could just walk on my own to lunch – but what if he was on his way to meet me here? Would he even know where my fourth period was? With an internal chastisement, I realized that _of course_ he would know where my fourth period was. He could read everyone's minds. All he'd have to do was … skitter around some heads to find me. So … I could wait here for him. But what if he didn't show up?

As my thoughts wound round and round in circles, I was tempted to simply march myself to Biology class and wait there. I was acting like … like such a _teenager_. When had I become so immature, so unsure of myself? I used to be so certain of where I was going – forever on to tomorrow – that I didn't really concern myself with the miniscule details of today. In fifty years, they never would have mattered. No one would remember them – or me. But that all changed, when Edward and his family came into my life. Legend said they were immortal – much as I was. How good were their memories? Would he remember the smell of my blood or the stupid way I stuttered hello for the rest of his life?

"Hey, Lily."

Lost to my own thoughts, I jumped when Jessica's voice sounded next to me.

"Hey …" I mumbled as I tried to figure out _why_ she was here. It took a moment but, eventually, the set of her jaw and the knowing glint in her eyes as she scrutinized me set in.

Ah. She was here to continue her interrogations.

"So, you ready to go?"

"Uh, sure … I guess." Should I tell her that I was planning to wait here for Edward?

Her eyes narrowed slightly and then her lips set in a patronizing smirk, "You're not sitting with us today, are you?"

"I don't _think_ so," I admitted sheepishly. Why, all of a sudden, did I feel like everyone was going to be whispering rumors behind my back by tomorrow morning? Why did I assume they weren't already whispering now?

I walked with her out of class, strangely resigned to another round of twenty questions. That was when I caught sight of Edward, leaning long and leonine against the brick wall. I could feel my spirits take an immediate turn for the sky as my eyes met his.

Then I saw his expression. Controlled. Calm. All except for his eyes, which were tightened only the smallest amount. Yup. He'd been listening.

Jessica took a long second to stare at Edward before turning to me and giving me another of her _looks_, "See you later, Lily."

I tried to smile at her – not sure if I actually succeeded. In all honesty, I was more concerned about how Edward had interpreted our conversations in third period than I was about the barrage of questions I was going to be hit with after school.

Slowly, I approached him, stopping a step away. I wasn't sure if he was still in a _friendly_ mood and I didn't want to assume that our previous camaraderie was still in effect.

"Hello," he said.

I smiled up at him, unable to hide the pleasure I felt at merely being in his company, "Hi."

Without another word, he turned and began leading the way to the cafeteria.

I was disinclined to chatter along the way. His brooding silence was a bit worrisome, though his greeting had been cordial enough. As we slunk through the lunch line, I shuffled my feet and attempted to keep from fidgeting. I was both anxious and terrified to begin the conversation I knew was coming. If I was fortunate, he'd have little commentary. I thought I'd been vague enough to maintain his image, while making it clear that I was under no delusions about our association. Hopefully, that had come through loud and clear.

Without asking me, Edward began piling plate after plate of the various assortment of food on his tray. I hadn't grabbed one for myself – being a mite too nervous to eat. Knowing that he didn't eat _normal_ food, my mouth fell open.

"Please tell me you aren't planning for me to eat all of that!" I stammered quietly, leaning close enough to exclude nearby students from my admonishment.

He shook his head, "Half is for me, of course."

I felt my eyebrows reach for the ceiling but I didn't venture further comment. Pretenses, indeed. Now that I thought about it, the Cullens always did have trays of food. They just never touched the contents.

Without further explanation he turned and escorted me to the same table we'd sat at last week. We took the same seats – across from one another, my back to my usual table – and he pushed the tray toward me.

"Take whatever you like."

Eyeing him skeptically, I reached out and grasped the first thing my hands made contact with – a bright red apple.

"While we're on the subject, I've got a question for you."

He waited, eyebrow raised.

"You don't usually eat this stuff," I motioned at the overflowing tray. "But can you? Is it harmful to you?" I kept my voice low, pitched so he alone would be the recipient.

"You're always curious," he complained and his face turned sour. Wordlessly, he reached forward and grasped a piece of pizza, lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite – his eyes never leaving mine. He chewed swiftly and swallowed, much to my surprise.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?"

I scrunched up my nose and made a face. "Yes, I suppose I could." I eyed the pizza as he returned it to the tray. "But … can you digest it?"

He frowned, "No."

"Then what do you …?" I let the query trail off, realizing that it wasn't particularly well suited for discussion at the table. "Never mind. I think I'd rather not know, right now." I waved my hands in an erasing motion.

For a second, Edward's gaze shifted over my shoulder.

I wanted to turn, too. To see what it was that had captured his interest.

"Jessica is analyzing everything I do," he informed me – the hint of a bemused smirk playing about his perfect lips. "She'll break it down for you later."

Purposefully, he pushed the tray of food toward me.

Acquiescing, I returned the apple to the tray – I likely wouldn't have eaten the not-yet ripe thing anyway. Seeing as how he hadn't died from eating it, I figured the pizza was safe. I took a bite from it, waiting for him to begin. His eyes had been scanning my face in a very calculated way since his last comment.

"So the staff were pretty, were they?"

I swallowed the bite of food out of surprise and had to suppress a cough. I hadn't been expecting him to start off along this tangent.

"Were you really so oblivious?"

"I wasn't paying attention to them. I had a lot on my mind."

I smirked, "How unfortunate for them." I rather liked the idea that he'd been so focused on me – be it my near-death experience or otherwise – that he hadn't noticed the far more attractive women attempting to lure him away.

"Something you said to Jessica …," his voice lost its casual note. "Well, it bothers me."

Straight to it, after all.

I returned the pizza to the tray and gave him a level look, "Oh? I thought I did fairly well at keeping your cover intact."

It was a poor attempt to dodge the situation and I knew, immediately, that he'd see through it. Still, I had to try.

"Yes, quite well, in fact. But that's not to what I'm referring."

"Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves, you know." It was an old saying, but one mostly lost to younger generations.

"I warned you I would be listening," he reminded me.

I scowled, "I very much doubt you expected that warning to have significant effect. I believe I told you that you wouldn't want to know everything I'm thinking."

"You did. You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking – everything. I just wish … that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

"And you wonder why you can't see into my thoughts." I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest in agitation, "I'm not really obliged to succumb to your emotional boundaries, Edward. I'm not a computer you can program to run only a certain way."

He made a gesture of acquiescence but continued along his prescribed path, "But that's not really the point, at the moment."

"Then, pray tell, what is the point?" I leaned forward, cupping my hand around the right side of my throat for support. I was a little irritated – and embarrassed. After his distinction, I wasn't sure I _wanted_ to know what he'd not liked hearing.

His eyes drifted away from mine for a split second before returning and softening, "Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?"

Everything went sort of … fuzzy. I could feel that my lungs weren't expanding to breathe but I couldn't seem to do anything about it. Something about the liquid, golden quality of his eyes seemed to become the be-all, end-all of my entire existence. Every cognitive process I had seemed to focus on his perfection; the way his velvet voice caressed my ears, his eternal eyes watched me ….

With a great wrenching effort, I broke eye contact, turning my head to the side and blinking quickly to dispel the hypnotism he had wrought. Cold, damp air rushed down my throat into my lungs and the world spun a little faster than it should have.

That little trick of his was going to be the death of me, someday. One of these times I wasn't going to be able to look away – to restart my heart and my breathing. Someday, I was simply going to lose myself completely in his gaze.

"That's not fair, you know," I gasped, trying desperately to regain control.

"What?"

Carefully, warily, I peeked back at his face. Confusion was etched in the strong lines.

"Trying to dazzle me like that," I confessed.

"Oh." After a moment, his face split into a self-satisfied crooked grin.

"You really can't help it, can you?" I sighed. Just another of his mysterious quirks, I supposed.

"Are you going to answer my question?" He wasn't going to be distracted.

Now that I was free of his mesmerizing hypnosis, my brain was able to take in his former question and process it. I guess I could understand what it was that he didn't like about my confession to Jessica. He'd already made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested in me in that way. It must have been irritating that I couldn't seem to respect his wishes.

So, now what? He'd asked for clarification – confirmation, really. Was I really going to try to deny it? It wasn't fair – to either of us – for me to lie. I already _knew_ that my feelings for him were more than his were for me. Why bother glossing over the truth?

With another sigh of resignation and a flush of embarrassment, I lowered my gaze to the tabletop and whispered an answer, "Yes."

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" His tone was impatient.

This must have been what people meant when they said a situation was like 'pulling teeth'.

Another sigh, "Yes, I do think that."

"You're wrong," his voice was confident, low.

"You can't be so sure," I glanced up at his face, wiping mine clear of all emotion.

"What makes you think so?"

_What made me think so?_ Was he serious? He'd all but said it, already. Every time I let slip just how – all right – _obsessed_ I was with him, he shut down.

As I worried my lip, trying to come up with an un-harsh comparison, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Give me a moment," I said, raising a finger to caution him.

The conflicted emotions he constantly stirred within me didn't lend themselves well to discussion. How could I tell him that I knew I cared more for him because I stayed? Because I wouldn't – couldn't run away.

"Beyond the obvious …," I cringed and looked down at the table, unable to make myself meet his eyes as I finished the explanation. "I'm not telepathic, Edward. I can't read minds whenever I want, so I can't be sure that what is said is what is meant. Even so, it seems to me that every time we talk, you don't always mean just what you say. There's always an undertone. And – I'm not expert in psychology, or anything – but it's pretty clear to me that what you're trying to say is goodbye."

"Perceptive," he breathed, quiet as a whisper.

The sharp, twinging pain in my chest must have been my heart breaking. I'd always assumed that the expression was just that – something said without actual action. But maybe I was wrong. I couldn't stop the pain I felt from crossing my face – eyes closed, a slight cringe to my mouth.

His next words flowed fast, as though to negate the harm already inflicted.

"That's exactly why you're wrong, though …," he paused. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

I glanced up at him perplexed. There was _no way_ he was being honest with me.

"Tell me you're joking."

He simply raised his eyebrows at me, a faint hint of irritation present in his eyes.

"Edward," his name almost hurt to say, I was so disheartened. "I'm not exactly remarkable," I made a sweeping gesture to include my entire form. "Despite my propensity for near-death experiences and a sweeping bad luck that could cripple an angel." I frowned as I thought about the only _remarkable_ things about me – things he would never find out about, if I could help it. "And, in case you haven't already noticed, you're rather remarkable – by anyone's estimation." I couldn't help the encompassing gesture I made toward him. Surely he must realize that everyone he met – everyone he would _ever_ meet – found him engrossing, enticing, enchanting.

"You don't see yourself very clearly, you know." He leaned back in his chair and looked me over.

I was about to argue, but he cut me off and continued.

"I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," he laughed humorlessly. "But you didn't hear what every human male was thinking on your first day." His smile was smug, as though this example cemented his victory.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. If it was anything like the _first days_ I'd endured in other schools, I knew _exactly_ what the males in the school had been thinking. And I wasn't any more intrigued now then I was then.

"The same reaction they would have had for any new girl from the big city, I assure you. I was – and am – nothing more than a passing fancy."

"Trust me just this once – you are quite remarkable."

It seemed that no amount of logic would deter him from his delusions – and I had never been particularly accustomed to compliments. Even so, it was better to redirect our conversation to the more pertinent topic.

"Be that as it may, I am still not the one saying goodbye."

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it …," he shook his head as though dispelling a wayward thought. "If leaving is the right thing to do … then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

I glared darkly at him, "And you assume I'd be unwilling to do the same?" Did he really believe me so selfish, so shallow? I'd have to leave, eventually. He'd assume I'd moved on with my life, gone off somewhere to grow old and die. He'd never know that I'd be leaving to keep him from having to put up with me for all eternity. Not to mention the trouble it would bring him and his family were _they_ to ever find me again.

"You'd never have to make the choice." His voice was quiet, sullen.

In that moment, I began to understand how great the gap was between us. To him, I was just another human girl, destined to live for a few short decades and then move on. Hope as I like, I understood that he would never know about me. Were I to tell him that I was some sort of unholy abomination, he'd turn away from me. I'd rather leave him with the impression of normalcy rather than horror.

His sporadic personality shifted again and he was once more wearing a smile – rueful, though it was.

"Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

A bit exasperated, I smiled at him, "Today must be Fate's day off."

"Oh?"

"Seriously. No earthquakes, or floods – not even a single stray rabid dog on campus. I tell you, it's a pretty dulcet day when no one makes an attempt on my life." My smirk was sarcastic.

"The day isn't over yet," he added dryly.

"True enough, I suppose. There's a chance of thunderstorms this afternoon. Maybe I can pencil in an electrocution."

His face fell and his gaze shifted away from mine.

_Selfish_, I thought bitterly to myself. There was no cause for me to hint at having his rescuing arts at my beck and call.

When he turned back, his face was impish again.

"I have another question for you."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know." But I smiled indulgently.

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"

Grimacing spectacularly, my mind skittered back to Tyler's confident expression.

"I'm warning you now – indestructible or not – I'll find a way to make you pay, if Tyler shows up on my doorstep with a corsage on Prom night!"

He laughed softly, "Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without my interference – I just _really_ wanted to see your face."

I growled, low and deep in my throat, "Masochistic busy-body!"

He laughed harder.

"If I'd asked you, would you have turned _me_ down?"

"I don't know …," I hedged. I'd like to _think _that I had enough self-control left to refuse so simple – and possibly dangerous – an invitation.

He gave me a quizzical look, "You don't know?"

"I would have had to cancel, if I'd accepted."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'd already told the others that I was going to be out of town. It would seem callous of me to decline their invitations on that pretense only to later accept yours." I was worming my way around the elephant in the room.

"And if I'd asked you first?"

"The circumstance never arose, so I can't say what I would or wouldn't have done."

He seemed lost in thoughts for a moment, his lips curled into that enticing smile I adored.

"But you never told me –," he said quickly. "Are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

My eyes narrowed, "That depends upon the contingency plan …." If he was trying to ask me to the dance, I might have to shove the half-eaten pizza into his face. I _thought_ I'd made myself quite clear about not wishing to attend.

"The dance …," he paused, probably watching the expression of disbelief cross my face, "is not what I meant."

I rolled my eyes, "In that case, I have my own qualification."

"And that is …?"

"I want to drive."

"Why?"

I had to work very hard to stymie the flood of laughter that was trying desperately to burst out. He looked absolutely horrified, as though he couldn't _bear_ the thought of riding in the dented behemoth that was the T-Bird. Luckily for him, I wasn't wanting to bring Alex's car.

"Firstly, Julia is under the impression that I'll be going _alone_ to Seattle. Not that it's any huge concern either way, but I'd prefer not to have to explain my car never leaving the garage. And, secondly, I need to take my car out for a drive. It hasn't been for any notable distance in a while and it would be good for it to get out."

His mouth worked silently and I just couldn't help myself from throwing in my own ribbing jab.

"Besides, your driving is beyond reckless."

He rolled his eyes at me, "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." He shook his head in feigned disgust.

"Won't you want to tell your aunt that you're spending the day with me?" His tone turned dark.

"And start the adult gossip train?" I raised an eyebrow to display my opinion on the matter.

When his expression didn't shift, I figured it was time to move right along.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"The weather will be nice," he said slowly. "So I'll be staying out of the public eye … and you can stay with me, if you'd like to."

I could feel the excitement racing through my system as I grasped the significance of his invitation, "Will I be able to see what you meant?"

"Yes. But … if you don't want to be … alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

I felt the black scowl settle on my face, "I did just fine on my own in LA, thank you very much. Not to mention –"

"But apparently your number wasn't up in LA," he cut me off. "So I'd rather you stayed with me."

I took a deep, calming breath before speaking. It was a moot point anyway. "I don't mind being alone with you, as it happens."

"I know," he sighed. "You should tell Julia, though."

I scoffed, "And why should I do that?" He _really_ didn't understand what telling my guardian could do. Julia had concerns over my lack of romantic interests already. Throw Edward in as my first 'date' and she'd likely be telling everyone she met about it!

"To give me some small incentive to bring you back!" He hissed menacingly.

For the first time today, his glower broke through my calm reserve. He was serious. I didn't have to stretch to imagine why he was so adamant about raising awareness about our association. Every person who knew we were together provided another barrier his baser instinct would have to overcome. But every person also supplied a witness. Someone who could point the finger at him, should something go amiss.

I shivered. _Should something go amiss._ I didn't relish the idea that Edward could lose his internal battle. But, even more so, I loathed the remotest possibility that _I_ could be his downfall.

Our relationship was built on trust – mutual and scarce, though it was. I trusted him not to hurt me. He trusted me not to _'out'_ him. Without that bond, there was nothing available to hold us together. This was a crucial step in maintaining that friendship. Frightening as it might be, there could be no connection until this hurdle was bypassed.

Taking a slow breath, I squared my shoulders and my jaw, "I'll take my chances."

There. I'd taken the first step. Now I just had to trust to the road.

He scowled across the room, a low sound rumbling in his throat.

Time for another subject change. Lighter, less … dour.

"Can we talk about something else, now?"

He looked back at me, disapproval still heavy on his brow, "What do you want to talk about?"

Leaning forward to limit my voice carrying, I gave him an intrigued look, "What types of animals do you hunt? The newspapers said Goat Rocks was mostly full of bears, but I'm sure there are other things there, too. I can't imagine you …."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at me.

Abruptly, the significance of his look hit me.

"Oh … I see."

I don't know what delusions I'd been under before. He was a _vampire_, after all. What did I think he hunted? Bunny rabbits?

"Is there a problem?" He was grinning in a self-satisfied way.

"No. I just thought … I didn't realize …." All right, I was flabbergasted. For something to do, I lifted the pizza and took a small bite, chewing slowly as I thought.

"Grizzly is Emmett's favorite."

My eyes went wide and I stole a surreptitious glance toward the burly vampire sitting across the room. He certainly was muscular enough to put up a decent fight with a bear, but a _grizzly_?

As my mind tried to supply a helpful illustration of the phenomenon I was hearing tell of, it skittered off on a tangent. If grizzly was Emmett's favorite ….

"What animal do you prefer?"

His face lost its jovial cast. "Mountain lion," he answered brusquely.

I blinked and tilted my head to the side, examining him.

"Do you only hunt predators? Does it make some sort of difference?" Still couldn't conjure an image.

He sniffed, "No, not only. We'll hunt the deer and elk nearby, if we have to. But there's little _fun_ in it."

"Fun?" It was a rhetorical question. I could easily surmise that large predators were more challenging to hunt – must put up more of a fight. Humans, after all, were said to be the most deadly predators on earth – though science books didn't take _mythical_ creatures into account on that scale.

"You enjoy eating your food, don't you?" He was being a little sarcastic now.

I glanced down at the pizza I held and set it back on its plate, "Less then some."

"Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season," he continued, in a lecturing tone. "They're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable."

I sniffed loudly, "I can see how that would make things more interesting."

He chuckled. The expression on my face must not have been as solemn as I was attempting to make it.

"Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

No harm in telling him. "I just can't picture it." I looked back at him, "I mean, how do you put it down? With weapons?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of," he flashed a wide grin at me, displaying his perfectly white teeth.

I shivered as I caught his meaning, "Just yourselves, then?" My voice might have been a tad higher pitched than usual.

"If you're ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting."

I closed my eyes and had to stop breathing for a moment. A perfect replay from a movie was running behind my eyes and I just wanted it to stop. I couldn't even _look_ at Emmett now. If he was able to not only survive but _win_ that scenario, I had a lot more to learn about vampire attacks. The ones I'd experienced must have been mild by comparison.

When I looked back at him, he was smug once more.

"I suppose that's what all of you are like?"

"No." He frowned.

"What do you hunt like, then?" I didn't really care to know, I was just … blathering.

"More like the lion, or so they tell me." He sounded detached, clinical. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

I shrugged noncommittally, "Could be."

Sitting there across from a bear-hunting vampire, I couldn't help thinking back to other incidents from my past. The first attack hadn't much _seemed_ like the mauling I'd seen on television. To me, it had merely been short. Then again, I wasn't nearly so much of a challenge as a grizzly bear. The others … well, they'd been supervised. _He_ hadn't much wanted to lose _his_ pet.

"Am I going to see that, someday?" I wasn't being serious, simply musing aloud. I was not prepared for the reaction I received.

"Absolutely not," he snarled at me and sat back in his seat, arms crossing over his muscular chest.

Unprepared for the vehement proclamation, I flinched back and stared at him in shock. I'd never seen him look so … _vampiric_.

It took a few moments of listening to the racing of my heart before I regained my mental footing. I schooled my features, examining him as clinically as he often did to me. There was something unfamiliar roiling behind the depths of his eyes. I didn't bother trying to ferret out its purpose or meaning, however. So unused to being denied anything in recent years, I was a little piqued by his outright ban on objective witness of hunting activities.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, keeping my voice level, "Don't want to frighten me?" There was a thin layer of challenge coating my words. I'd been the _victim_ of a vampire attack, after all. If the memory of that hadn't managed to pry me from his company, then I very much doubted witnessing the demise of some wildlife would send me away.

"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," he retorted though his teeth. "You _need_ a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

My mouth settled into a hard line, "Is that so?"

He didn't answer me, simply continued staring at me with that granite expression on his face.

"Why then?" I was not best pleased, but at least his reasoning wasn't the result of him viewing me as a fragile child.

"Later," he snapped, rising to his feet. "We're going to be late."

Disoriented, I looked around me to find that the cafeteria was mostly empty. Yet again I hadn't heard the clanging of the retched bell. Why was it that I couldn't seem to maintain attachment with the rest of the world whenever I was talking to him?

Rising smoothly, I retrieved my bag from the floor and gave him a heavy look, "Later, then." I was holding him to that. I wasn't _about_ to let him avoid telling me his reasoning.


	11. Chapter 11: Complications

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own ****_Twilight _****- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you ****_HATE Twilight _****or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Irritated with Edward's overly protective attitude, Lily now has to wait through an _entire_ Biology lesson before she can confront him over it. But, lo and behold, that ends up being the least of her concerns. Something's changed between them and it's not something she can ignore ...

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11:<strong>

I walked silently beside him all the way to Biology, seething inside with indignation. It wasn't until I took my seat that my thoughts splayed along another avenue. If it wasn't fear of sending me running for the hills, what _could_ cause Edward to react like that? I felt my blood chill as possibilities ran through my head. Maybe it wasn't mere embarrassment on his part. Perhaps his reluctance had a deeper meaning ….

Mr. Banner tugged a dilapidated media cart into the room, distracting me from this new disturbing path. The sudden lift in the spirits of those around me was almost tangible – like a faint electric charge to the air.

Shrugging internally, I didn't bother to read the movie's title. It wasn't like I'd spend the period watching the piece. More likely, I'd use the time to ponder over my lunchtime conversation with Edward.

Closing my binder and textbook, I slid them back into my bag. No use in wasting time at the end of class stowing unnecessary items. I heard the jerking stop of the media cart and Mr. Banner's scramblings as he plugged the unit in. Slowly, I rolled my head around, feeling the tense muscles pull and flex at the movement. If I was _very_ lucky, my extremities wouldn't fall asleep during the hour.

Then Mr. Banner switched off the lights.

That strange electric charge to the air I'd attributed to my classmates' excitement spiked. It was almost as though the arching current was racing along my skin. I sucked in a shocked breath at the sudden intensity of it.

More shocking than the tingling sensation assaulting my nerves was the peculiar force I felt coming from Edward. It felt as though every cell in my body were drawn to him – crying out for me to breach the short distance between us and touch him.

My left hand moved – seemingly of its own accord – toward him and I snatched it back. Unbalanced by this new, unknown intensity between us, I balled my hands into fists and crossed my arms over my chest. Using every ounce of self control I'd ever had I tensed my arms, holding them in place.

When the TV flicked on, lighting the room with its static, snowy glow, I risked a glance toward Edward.

He was sitting in _exactly_ the same position as I was; arms crossed tightly across his chest, hands balled into fists, eyes angled toward me. If it weren't for the apparent severity of the situation, I would have laughed. Despite that, I could feel the pull of amusement lifting the corners of my mouth.

My eyes scanned up the length of him, seeking to share my amusement with a look. Just like it had from the first glance, my mind seemed to skitter away from my control. The mild feeling of fullness that had accompanied my gasped-in breath lingered as my lungs apparently forgot how to dispel the air. My body, though zinging with the unprecedented sensation, froze into position, heightening the feeling to near pain – like the tingle of limbs whose circulation had been cut off for a short period.

The longer I held his gaze, the _fuzzier_ my logic became.

Would it be so bad to reach over and touch him? If he didn't like it, he could simply pull away ….

I felt my mouth open slightly, the request for permission lingering just beyond vocalization.

What if he didn't want me to touch him? Would he be upset if I tried? After all, we had just established that we were going to try to be friends. Friends didn't hold hands in the dark ... Or look at each other like I _knew_ I was looking at him.

When he smiled back at me, his eyes smoldered in a way that was nearly irresistible. The crooked quirk to his mouth, the liquid warmth of his eyes, everything seemed inviting, enticing.

The hunger to reach over and run my hands along him, to clasp my fingers possessively with his surged. As though released from a spell, command of my body returned and I let out the breath I'd been holding as I quickly turned away.

No. This was a friendship, nothing more. He'd been reluctant enough about that concession. There was no way I was going to jeopardize that by practically throwing myself at him.

Even as I waged an internal war between my conscience and my desire over the prudence – and lack thereof – of touching him, I couldn't help occasionally stealing glances at him. Like me, he never moved throughout the entirety of the movie. Each time our eyes met, the humming charge between us would zing through me with a sudden shock. It took everything I had to keep my rigid position.

When at last the moving figures on the screen were replaced with the static and the light was flicked back on, my entire body felt like it had been run through the ringer. The illumination seemed to dissipate the electric field between us. Even so, the residual sensation still hummed through my aching muscles. Grateful for the temporary cease-fire, I rolled my shoulders, flexing my fingers with exultation.

I heard Edward chuckle, "Well, that was interesting."

I smiled in a rueful way, "Hmm." _Talk about an understatement._

He stood with a sigh, "Shall we?"

I tried to keep from making a face, but I couldn't seem to. I really wasn't looking forward to gym class. It wasn't like it was some sort of tortuous occasion. My reluctance had more to do with the fact that I didn't want to relinquish Edward's company. That exhilarating sensation during Biology had illustrated an entirely new connection between us. One that I would love to have explored further.

I rose to my feet, careful to ensure my equilibrium hadn't been skewed by the sensory overload of the last hour and followed him out of the classroom.

The walk to gym was both brief and quiet. I couldn't seem to find anything to say. What _could_ I say? Moreover, I was finding it even harder to keep myself from reaching out to touch the hand that hung so close to my side.

When we reached the gymnasium, I turned to say goodbye. My mouth parted slightly with the word but it never came out.

The look on Edward's face was heart stopping. Conflict raged behind the liquid color of his eyes and his features were wrought with indecision.

As I watched, something changed and the conflict evaporated, his beatific face turning softer, yet resolved. Without a word, Edward lifted his hand and brushed it once, softly across my cheek.

The cool smoothness of his skin sliding along mine was in stark contrast to the boiling, burning sensation that seemed to follow it. The feeling was neither painful nor unpleasant – quite the opposite. It was merely a concentrated version of the tingling hum that had throbbed between us in the classroom.

Too soon, Edward removed his hand and turned, leaving me standing there open-mouthed, blushing, and completely without words. I couldn't move until his retreating form had left my sight. As though in a daze, I made my way into the locker room to dress out.

It wasn't until Coach Clapp handed me a racquet that any semblance of reality returned.

_Great, badminton_, I thought dourly. I had never been particularly good at this game. Something about the combination of small flying objects and the swinging of an undersized snowshoe just didn't bode well for me.

"Do you want to be a team?" The look on Mike's face spoke volumes. Luckily for me, it was inside his head.

"Um, sure." I cast a weary glance toward the series of nets set up along the length and breadth of the basketball court. "You know … I can't really play this."

"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." The faint twist to his lips made me wonder if he'd remembered the volleyball segment.

I grinned shyly at him and took up a place at the rear of our designated court. As soon as the first birdie was away, my mind wandered back to the scene outside the gym.

Edward had touched me. Not only touched me, but caressed my cheek. What was _that_ supposed to mean? I scanned through every interpretation of 'friendship' I'd ever encountered, certain that I must have misunderstood the limits somehow. I hadn't. Nowhere in any definition, expression, or interpretation of that relationship had there been the inclusion of a casual caress. Hugging, sure. Stroking of the face? Not in my recollection.

Mike had been playing alone for a good part of the hour when the coach came up and suggested – in the way of demanding, rather than suggesting – that he include me in the next volley.

I saw Mike's shoulders sag and I sighed as I hesitantly entered the game. Swinging a possibly volatile weapon while thoroughly distracted seemed like a bad combination to me. But far be it for me to argue with 'the man in charge'.

Gingerly, I swung the racquet in a practice arch, feeling the oddly balanced weight of it pull my arm in a unintentional direction.

_Yeah, _this _was a good idea._

The girl across from me smirked derisively and readied her serve.

"_Time for some payback!"_

Jennifer's lips never moved, but the words came through loud and clear.

Precious seconds passed as my confused mind attempted to process what had just happened. When at last I understood, my mouth popped open with shock and I could feel a cold chill rush down my spine that had _nothing_ to do with the fast approaching birdie aimed directly for my face.

At the last second, I managed to force myself to make an attempt for the volley. Sidestepping awkwardly to avoid being pelted with the missile, I swung wide.

It was almost comical, the slow-motion processing of my trajectory. My ill-considered sidling had placed me far closer to the center line than I had first perceived. It wasn't until I missed the little white object that I realized my swing was still going to connect with the top edge of the net.

From my peripheral view, I saw Mike spring forward to save the volley.

When the racquet grazed the top of the net, my already tenuous grip on the handle was lost. The elastic-like surface caused the newly-free-flying object to rebound such that it managed to clip me in the forehead before careening off to strike Mike's outstretched arm with a resounding _thwack_.

The sharp stab of pain across my brow was nothing to the overt embarrassment I felt.

Coach Clapp let out a burst of laughter before covering it with a fake cough, "Sorry, Newton."

The surge of chagrin I felt was accompanied by a nearly deafening rush of noise. For the briefest of moments, it was as though every single person in the room was speaking at the same time.

"_That girl's the worst jinx I've ever seen. Shouldn't inflict her on the others …."_

"_Ow. Ow. Ungh. That's going to leave a bruise."_

"_Ha! We'll see how Edward likes her with that big bruise on her face!"_

"_Wow. What a klutz."_

Overwhelmed by the crushing noise reverberating in my head, I closed my eyes, covered my face with my hands and kneaded the twinging wound.

"_Ow."_ I could almost _feel_ Mike come over toward me, massaging his elbow, "Are you okay?"

His spoken words seemed to force the other unsaid barrage away.

Peeking up at him from beneath the cover of my hands, I smirked in a sheepish way, "Physically I'm fine." I eyed his arm, "How about you?"

"I think I'll make it." He swung his arm in a circle, testing the pain and range.

Grimacing, "Sorry, Mike. I guess I've ruined your dreams of joining the Professional Badminton League." The last was a bad attempt at a joke, but I felt I had to do _something_.

He gave me a confused look, "Huh?"

"Never mind. Bad joke. I'll just … stand back here."

For the remainder of the period, I didn't venture even a millimeter closer to the game. Instead, I held my now-proven weapon behind my back and tried to avoid eye contact with anyone.

When the coach blew the whistle, Mike and I deposited our racquets in the bin and headed back towards the locker rooms.

"So." There was a quality of sullenness to Mike's tone.

Stopping, I looked at him, "So?"

"You and Cullen, huh?"

I felt my back stiffen, "That's really not any of your business, Mike."

"I don't like it." He looked down, avoiding my now angry eyes.

"I don't recall asking you for permission."

"He looks at you like … like you're something to eat."

Before I could censor it, a snicker slipped through. Clamping my lips shut, I waved at him and went into the locker room. He glowered at me as I went.

_If only you _knew_,_I thought.

The amusement was quickly lost as I slipped back into my regular clothes. Musingly, I wondered whether Edward was going to meet me here or at his car. What if I went to his car and met up with his siblings instead? Edward I trusted – even his father, to a lesser degree. The others … not so much.

By the time I left the gym, I had nearly convinced myself that the best course of action would be to walk straight home without ever looking toward the lot. My anxieties, however, were unnecessary. Edward was leaning casually against the side of the gym, his angelic face untroubled.

I felt the relieved smile spread across my face as I walked to his side, hesitancy and nervousness a distant memory.

"Hey." Okay, it was a lame opening line, but I was okay with lame.

"Hello," his answering smile was radiant. "How was Gym?"

A snapshot of my disastrous last hour flitted across my vision but I tried to hold my smile in place, "Just fine."

"Really?" His knowing smile told me that he'd heard the lie in my voice.

Before I could insist, his amber eyes shifted away from mine, focusing on something behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I noted Mike stalking away.

"What is it?" I demanded.

His heavenly eyes refocused on mine and a rueful quirk turned up the corner of his mouth, "Newton's getting on my nerves."

Confused, I glanced back at Mike's distant form, "Why?"

When I looked back at Edward's face, comprehension clicked into place.

"Please tell me you weren't eavesdropping again!" I wasn't angry. I was horror-struck. It was one thing for every single person in my gym class to have witnessed my utter lack of coordination. Quite another for Edward to have been privy to it as well.

"How's your head?" His innocent tone was _not_ nearly contrite enough.

"I can't _believe_ you!" Angry now, as well as embarrassed, I turned on my heel and stormed off in the direction of the parking lot. In truth, I was so aggravated that I was reconsidering the decision to walk home, rain or no rain.

He kept pace with me easily, ruining the effect of an indignant retreat.

"You were the one threatening to _'pencil in'_ an electrocution this afternoon. I figured it was better to keep an eye on you, just in case." He smirked down at me, though I cast an irritated glare up at him. "Besides, I've never seen you in gym – I was curious."

Of all the days for him to be curious about seeing me in gym, it _had_ to be the day I nailed both Mike and myself with a racquet.

My procession was further hindered when a wall of drooling, testosterone-filled flesh rose up between me and Edward's Volvo. Every head was turned toward Rosalie's pristine convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. Not a one of them even glanced up as Edward and I slid between them to slip into the Volvo.

"Ostentatious," he muttered as I buckled my seatbelt.

I sniffed and glanced out at the ruby ragtop, "It's not like she didn't expect the attention."

"True enough."

My eyes skittered over the manufacturer symbol, "What kind is it, by the way."

"A BMW." He looked over his shoulder and began slowly backing out of the spot.

I met his gaze for a moment and tried not to roll my eyes, "I did live in LA, Edward. I know what a BMW is."

He smirked, "It's an M3."

I nodded – that was one of the ones Alex had mentioned. Not that I could tell it apart from any other model on the line.

We were both silent until we exited the lot.

"Are you still angry?"

"Absolutely."

He sighed, "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

I thought for a minute, meeting his eyes and weighing the possibility that he'd commit the affront again.

"Perhaps."

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"If you're sincere, then you'll give me your word not to do it again." I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a level stare.

His gaze turned shrewd, calculating. "How about if I'm sincere, _and _I let you drive Saturday?"

I let out a bark of laughter and raised my own eyebrow at him, "My driving on Saturday was dependent upon our altered plans. I don't recall those having _anything_ to do with your nosiness."

His mouth turned down slightly.

I couldn't stand to see him upset, so I decided to concede, "Though, in this case, I suppose I can make an exception. It's a deal."

His crooked smile returned for a moment before his eyes turned into liquid honey, "Then I'm very sorry I upset you."

There was no question in my mind that he was sincere about the apology. Granted, there were no questions in my mind at all at the look on his face ….

"And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning."

"It might be a little suspicious to Julia if there's an unexplained Volvo in the driveway, when she gets home."

His smile turned considering, "I wasn't intending to bring a car."

"There's no need for someone to drop you off. I can come get you."

His smile turned impish, "No need."

"Then how …."

He cut me off, "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."

Part of me wanted to argue with him. Unanswered questions weren't really conducive to a curious nature. However, there were more pressing matters to be ferreted out.

"All right. Then on to the next topic. Is it later yet?" My tone was full of significance.

He frowned, "I suppose it is later."

I waited.

The car came to a stop and I glanced out the window to see we were parked on the street outside Julia's house. I'd learned last night that it was better for me to only look once he'd come to a complete stop.

When I returned my eyes to his, he was watching me in a measuring way.

"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?"

Was that _humor_ lingering behind the seriousness in his eyes?

"Yes and no," I chewed my lip for a second as I thought. "I'm more concerned with your reaction, actually."

"Did I frighten you?" Yes, that was _definitely_ humor.

I answered immediately, knowing that he'd hear the fib despite my denial, "No." It hadn't been his expression or even his avid refusal that had frightened me. It had been the possible reasons behind them that had been discomforting.

"I apologize for scaring you," he was still smirking, though his apology was sincere enough. Like a switch had been thrown, the amusement was abruptly gone, "It was just the very thought of you being there … while we hunted." His jaw tightened and I could see something foreign swirling in his eyes.

I watched him for a moment, analyzing his hunched shape. There was fear, restraint, and desire all wrapped up together in a twisted, complicated knot.

"I'm not sure I understand why that would be so bad."

He took a deep breath and stared out the windshield at the misty sky.

"When we hunt … we give ourselves over to our senses," he spoke slowly, precisely. "Govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way …."

_Sense of smell …,_ I thought dolefully. Did it always come back to that? Was I destined to spend the rest of my life will the liquefied version of a siren's call running through my veins?

I expected the quick flash of his eyes, keeping my face as neutral as possible. He'd been hoping for a window into my thoughts, but I wasn't about to let him have it. If he wanted to know what I was thinking, he'd have to work harder at getting it out of me.

Our eyes met and held. His pupils, such a strong contrast against the golden hue of his irises, dilated and the silence thickened, changed. It started with a faint humming echoing in my mind, reminiscent of the buzzing from Biology. Next was the tingling, pale in comparison to the zinging I'd experienced before but still palpable. The longer he held my gaze, the more intense the humming and tingling became. It wasn't until the edges of my vision blurred that I realized I was no longer breathing.

When I drew in a jagged, rasping breath – breaking the stillness of our connection – Edward closed his eyes.

"Lily, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough.

My body worked without conscious command, my hand jerking the handle up to open the door. The arctic gust of air across my face helped to clear my mind, though limbs still moved of their own accord. Carefully, I emerged from the car, breathing deeply as I closed the door securely behind me.

The whir of the automatic window made me turn, curious.

"Oh, Lily?"

I leaned down slightly to see into the window, wary of the return of the electricity. So much for penciling in an electrocution. I'd gone through two today ….

There was an impish quirk to his lips, "Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn?"

He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth, "To ask the questions."

Then he was gone, driving away down the wet road at a ridiculous pace. I had to grin, despite myself. If nothing else, I would see him tomorrow. I'd focus on that rather than the looming disaster of Edward's curiosity.

* * *

><p>Perhaps it was the strange mental bombardment I'd experienced during gym class or – more likely – it was the sensory overloading sensations from my time with Edward. Either way, I was exhausted by the time nine o'clock rolled around. Even so, my early hours weren't sound. What few dreams I had were as expected – filled with visions of Edward. But that wasn't why I tossed and turned, restlessly somersaulting from side to side, stomach to back. No, that was due to the return of the exhilarating electric charge humming ceaselessly through my unconscious mind. Sometime in the small hours of the morning, I drifted off into a dreamless slumber.<p>

Waking with my alarm was a chore, at best. My scant few hours of rest left me tired. Combined with the nervousness I harbored toward the impending question and answer session with Edward, I was tense, edgy. My lethargy didn't hinder my morning preparations, thank goodness. When at last I emerged from my bedroom, the sweet aroma of coffee called to me from the kitchen.

Julia was seated at the table, her coffee in one hand and a cream-cheesed bagel in the other.

"Morning," I yawned, grabbing a fresh mug and filling it to the brim with the welcome ambrosia of chocolate-flavored caffeine.

"Morning, sleepy-head."

Slumping into the seat across from her, I wrapped my cold hands around the warming ceramic cup and sipped at the steaming liquid.

We didn't speak again until after Julia had finished her bagel.

She rose, taking her travel mug back to the pot, "Lils, about this Saturday …."

Surprised by the topic, I gulped a larger mouthful of the hot beverage than I'd intended, scalding the inside of my mouth, "What about it?" Please, oh, _please_ let her not have gotten the day off. It would be bad enough trying to talk her out of going with me. Worse yet, if I had to explain Edward's presence.

"Are you still planning on going to Seattle?"

"That was the plan." I blew a slow breath out of my mouth, letting the air cool my aching tongue. Well, it _had_ been the plan. It just wasn't anymore ….

She paused as she refilled her cup.

I waited with baited breath, wishing more than anything else that she hadn't brought up the subject. I didn't like having to lie to Julia. She was my family and I loved her.

"And you're sure you can't make it back for the dance?"

Sputtering again, this time managing to slosh a little of my coffee on my jeans, I gave her an exasperated look, "I'm not going to the dance, Julia."

"Why not?" She turned to face me, hers full of concern, "Didn't anyone ask you?"

It was lucky I'd put my mug down on the table. Otherwise, I might have been wearing the remainder of the contents. This was the third time in recent weeks that Julia had tried to breach the subject of 'boys'. And, like the last three times, I wasn't really ready to talk with her about it.

"It's the Sadie Hawkins dance, remember?" Fleetingly, I wondered what she'd think if she knew I'd turned down three invites already.

She wasn't deterred, "Okay, so haven't you asked anyone?"

"No," I shook my head to emphasize my response.

"Why not?" Again with the concerned puppy-dog eyes.

I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, "I'm not ready to date." It was true … in a not so true, but kind of true way.

"Oh," she turned back to adding sugar and creamer to her cup.

Despite my embarrassment over the topic, I could understand Julia's concern. It had taken me an inordinate amount of time to accumulate any friends at all, after I'd arrived. And now, it seemed as though I had little or no interest in having anything more than that. When I was growing up, lack of a beau at seventeen wouldn't have been all that concerning – particularly when you took into account my strict Catholic upbringing. Nowadays, however, a girl of seventeen who'd never had a boyfriend was … well, odd. If I were in her position, I might be a little worried, too. Little did she know that I _was_ interested in someone – and boy would she be worried if she knew even the barest hint of the truth about him.

Within minutes, Julia was out of the house, her green sedan pulling out of the drive. I didn't bother waiting. I rushed to my bedroom and retrieved my backpack from the floor before hurrying to the window to check. Sure enough, the silver car was there, idling quietly in the drive.

Smiling to myself, I went outside, locking the deadbolt behind me. As I opened the car door, I wondered how long this routine would continue – wonderful and bizarre as it was. If it were up to me, it'd never end.

"Good morning," his voice was silky and the relaxed smile on his face was perfect and tempting to a degree that ought to be illegal. "How are you today?" His eyes roamed over my face, seeming to indicate his question was more than simply courtesy.

"I'm well, thank you." Well, now, anyway.

His eyes shifted down slightly, focusing on the dark circles beneath my eyes, no doubt. "You look tired."

I made an acquiescing expression, "A little. I didn't sleep." Habit kicked in and I swept my hair over my shoulder between us. Considering it wasn't shielding my face – as was the original purpose – it didn't provide much cover, but somehow I felt a little less revealed.

"Neither did I," he teased as he pulled out of the drive. The car was so quiet that I was sure the snarling growl of my T-Bird would be startling when I drove it again.

I laughed, "Touché. Of the two of us, I suppose I did sleep just a bit more."

"I'd wager you did."

"And just what did you do with yourself, monsieur oiseau de nuit?"

His expression turned speculative and it took a moment for me to realize that I'd fallen into my native tongue. I'd become so accustomed to being open with him – about his existence, at any rate – that my usual barriers were slipping. As I did my best to maintain a politely blasé expression, I chastised myself for my recklessness … and my deceit. It felt wrong to hide so much of myself from him. Especially considering his candidness with me.

As quickly as the speculation appeared, it was gone. Then his smile returned and he chuckled, "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."

I did my best to hide the grimace, but I could feel my brow furrow, "I can't say I wasn't warned. What is it you want to know?" I was tense, afraid he'd ask the wrong question – any number of them that I couldn't answer, wouldn't answer. Again the nagging remorse pricked at my conscience.

"What's your favorite color?" His face was a so grim, it reminded me of the expression a priest wore at confession.

I bit back the snigger, "I don't really have one anymore, though I suppose it used to be green."

"What made you decide green wasn't your favorite anymore?" His expression never lost its serious cast.

I thought for a second and then motioned out the window – I could tell a bit of the truth, anyway. "Where I came from, green wasn't so … prominent. It had a meaning – it meant Spring had arrived. Here …. Well, here it's just _everywhere_. Anything that's permanent is covered in this thick, squashy, wet mass of greenery. It's not novel anymore. Instead it's _invasive_."

He seemed fascinated by my little rant. His eyes considered me as my words trailed off into silence.

"I suppose you're right." He was serious again, "Green is invasive." Without warning, he swiftly reached over and swept my curls back behind my shoulder. Despite the quickness of the action, there was still something hesitant in it – as though he wasn't sure he should touch me.

We reached the school at that moment and he turned back to me after sliding smoothly into a parking spot.

"What music is in your CD player right now?" Again, it looked as though he thought I might rebuke him for his nosiness. If this was the line of questioning he intended to follow for 'his day', I was more than comfortable with it.

I thought back, trying to remember what – if anything – had been in the stereo CD player I'd brought with me to Julia's.

"You know, I'd don't remember what's in my stereo, but I listen to my iPod more often," I pulled the tiny device out of my bag and showed it to him.

"So, what was the last thing you listened to?" Still so serious.

The last thing I'd listened to had been a mix of some of my highest rated music – hoping the steady, familiar tunes would distract me from my musings over vampires, werewolves, and the whole world of unknowns. I clicked the selector and read off the song title and the name of the band.

With a breathtaking crooked smile, Edward opened the compartment under his car's CD player and pulled out a single case from amid the thirty or so crammed in there.

"Debussy to this?" He handed me the CD.

The cover art was an exact copy of the thumbnail image on my iPod's screen. Peeking up at him from beneath my lashes, I smirked.

"I could ask you the same thing – if I were allowed to."

He laughed.

* * *

><p>Things continued along this path for the rest of the day. He met me after each class, using the passing periods to slip in anything else he could think of. Lunch was the most intensive, a full hour of nonstop queries. He wanted to know everything, from the insignificant to the personal. Mostly, I didn't mind. It felt a little like being in a psychotherapist's chair – answer with the first thing that popped into my mind and move along. Topics spiraled from movies and books – a topic he was quite content to linger upon – to places – where I'd been and where I still wanted to go. The last was a touchy subject. I had to carefully phrase my answers so as to be truthful and yet sufficiently vague.<p>

By the end of lunch, my voice was becoming a bit hoarse. My usual silent observance had been utterly shattered. It felt awkward to be the one dominating the conversation – particularly in a high school cafeteria. Some of my degrees had required extensive discussions, presentations, and the like but I couldn't honestly remember the last time I'd spent a straight hour talking about myself. The topic was typically scarce – as was to be expected, considering my … predicament.

For the most part, his questions were mundane enough not to cause discomfort. Every once in a while, though, one would trigger a blush or moment of shocked silence. Nothing was ever vulgar or overly intrusive, however some subjects were both unfamiliar and a bit uncomfortable for me. This phenomenon seemed to pique his interest, detouring his line of inquiries for a time.

"What is your favorite gemstone?"

The preference questions had been flying at me so fast I didn't have time to censer my answer before it slipped out.

"Topaz." Then it happened – the blush. Internally, my 'too much information' alarm was blaring. Up until I'd moved to Forks, my favorite gemstone had been Opal – the same stone that was set in the heart of the cross I wore beneath my clothes. It had once been Marie's. She'd given it to me when we'd set out to Rome. I wasn't even sure that topaz was my favorite gemstone. Its hue was the same as the color I most loved to see, though ….

"What is it?" He leaned forward, examining my face.

Carefully, I kept my eyes aimed at the untouched food before me, "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Please." The single word was both music to my ears and the most painful sound imaginable. I didn't want to tell him the reason. Explaining to him that my blunder was the obsessive result of longing to see more of his eyes would be embarrassment on a level not yet achieved.

I shook my head, keeping my gaze fixed downward. The silken velvet of his voice was torment enough. If I met his hypnotic stare as well, I'd be confessing the deepest darkest secrets within my heart in no time flat. Nervously, I pulled at a section of hair that had fallen over my shoulder; twirling the loose ringlet round and round my pale fingers.

"I won't laugh," he used that same tone from yesterday that he'd invoked during his apology.

The world lilted ever so slightly to the left but I managed to hold my ground, shaking my head in refusal.

Two minutes later, he'd given up on persuasion, "Tell me." He commanded.

His frustration was almost as painful to me as my embarrassment. In the end, however, I gave in. Out of habit, I reached into the neck of my sweater to clutch the small silver cross resting below my collarbone, worrying the smooth stone with my thumb.

"Because it's the color of your eyes after you've fed … when you're in the best mood." I sighed in an exasperated way, fearful that my confession would spark that flash of anger in him that always arose whenever I slipped to reveal how obsessed with him I was.

It didn't. His pause was short, considering.

"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" he moved right along, down his mental list of questions as though the interruption had never occurred.

Grateful, I breathed deeply and continued along with the psychoanalysis.

The fired off questions continued unrelentingly until the instant Mr. Banner dragged the media cart through the Biology room door. I'd been so focused on the round of 'three-hundred and sixty-five questions' I was involved in that I'd forgotten about the movie. This was going to be a complication again. It seemed Edward agreed. As Mr. Banner walked to the light switch, Edward slid his stool several inches further away from mine.

I only had a split second to wonder if he was trying to alleviate the tense, electric connection between us out of dislike when the lights shut off and the hum began. The distance didn't help in the least. In fact, the charged sensation was harder to resist, urging me more forcefully to reach across the desk and clasp his cold hand in mine.

Determined to resist the gnawing craving for contact, I leaned forward, folding my arms beneath my chin and focusing on the screen. In an effort to keep my hands busy, I gripped the edge of the table with my left and my cross with my right. I denied myself permission to look at Edward for the whole time the lights were off. If he were looking at me when I glanced at him, I wasn't sure I could resist the draw any longer.

My back ached – along with my hands – when at last the lights were flicked on. If there had been a pop quiz about what the movie had been on, I would have failed it. There was only enough focus within me to have maintained my position. Anything else, was a lost cause during lights out. I stretched leisurely, rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers as I looked up at Edward. His expression was blank, eyes ambivalent.

Our procession and goodbye was like a strange déjà vu. We spoke not one word on our way to the gym and, like yesterday, he touched my face again before leaving – this time stroking the back of his hand down the side of my face from my temple to my jaw. Fire erupted beneath my skin, urgent and pleasant at the same time.

* * *

><p>I spent the entire hour lost in my own thoughts. It had been a long time since I'd had anything even <em>resembling<em> a friendship with another person. Still, I couldn't recall having spent so long – and so thorough a job – on getting to know them. Then again, I hadn't ever had a friend like Edward. When I was human, the few girls I talked to after Sunday services weren't exactly what one could call friends. Marie was the closest to it, but she had been family – fully aware of my oddities from the start. Never would I have disclosed my strangeness to another person before, for fear it would have consequences I could not have withstood.

Wryly, I realized that Edward wasn't _exactly_ a friend either. He didn't know about a majority of my peculiarities. He was only vaguely – and wrongly – aware of my past. The raised crescent scars on my body weren't fully responsible for what I was. Some of it had been there even before _them_. And yet he'd trusted me with his secrets – in a way more damaging than my own. Some friend I was ….

Friends …. If only I could read his mind as easily as he read those of the people around him. Sometimes, when he looked at me, I could swear there was more behind his eyes than merely friendship. I'd been gazed at by smitten human boys more than enough to recognize a certain spark. And yet, he was so formal, so distant most times. Except when he touched me. I still couldn't understand why he would do that, if he was only interested in friendship. Surely he heard the way my heart fluttered every time he did it. He was intelligent. Intelligent enough to have guessed the cause behind the palpitations, even without my verbal confirmation. Could it be that he was testing my resolve? I didn't believe him so callous but, then again, it may be his way of making certain I was willing to stick to our agreement. Or could there be more behind them? Could he want me just as much as I wanted him?

Without notice, images of Edward sweeping me up in his arms and crushing my mouth to his filled my vision. Warmness accompanied them, flowing out from my core to my extremities. I could feel the sudden raggedness to my breathing and I tried to push them away. As much as I wanted that, it couldn't be. He had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interested. Moreover, how was such a thing to be accomplished? I already knew I'd have to leave in a few short years – if only to keep him from learning of the horror I truly was. So what was I to do? Cling to illusions until they drove me mad? And even if he _did_ want me as I wanted him, what kind of selfish harpy could I be to agree knowing our time was limited?

With concerted effort, I shoved the images away, locking them in another drawer. Breathing slowly through my nose, I attempted to stem the waterworks I could feel building behind my eyes.

When at last I had calmed, something flitted through my mind; part of a stanza from a poem Steph had loved by Alfred, Lord Tennyson: "'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." For a time, I allowed myself to ponder this concept. In the end, however, I couldn't honestly speak of its truth. I had lost loved ones in the past. I would not trade my time with them for anything in the world – including my own normalcy. The poem, though, spoke of romantic love. Something I had never experienced.

Mike didn't speak to me at all. He continued his one-man badminton game – winning every match, from what I could tell – and didn't so much as glance at me. In the back corner of my mind, I wondered if his reaction was due to our spat from yesterday afternoon. I had been rude, after all. Perhaps I should apologize. Then again, the sooner he stopped seeing me as something to swoon over, the better for us both.

My mind was more relaxed and focused, when I walked out of the gym to find Edward waiting for me. A sense of release accompanied the smile I gave him – as though I'd been tense before. He smiled back before diving right back into the cross-examination.

The topics had shifted again, moving onto things which required more thought. Settling into a more comfortable pattern, I began using my hands as I talked, exercising my vocabulary – something I rarely got to do in company. Carefully, he delved into my relationship with Steph and Alex, watching my face for signs of depression. This was a harder topic, but one I was willing to discuss. I talked about the things we used to do together, Alex's work, Steph's philanthropy. I even explained a little bit about how I came to live with them.

"I was staying in an empty house. There was an old woman down the street who used to leave food for me – I think I reminded her of her daughter or something. One night, the police just showed up at the door." I shrugged, looking out at the water cascading in rivers down the windshield. It was mostly true. I simply left out the part where I'd made an anonymous phone call to the police to inform them someone was living in the house.

"And then?" He was quiet, obviously not wanting to push me.

"Well, I was obviously under age, so they took me to the precinct, questioned me, and, when they couldn't figure out who I was, they turned me over to social services." I glanced back to him, "I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"How long were you on your own?"

I sighed heavily. _Fifty-two years and counting …._ "Not long. A few weeks, maybe."

"I'm sorry." His sincerity was touching.

I smiled, weak though it was, "It's not your fault. Besides, it all worked out for me, in the end." _I hoped._

We were silent for a few moments before he shifted subjects again. We sat in front of the house for hours as I answered question after question. When at last I was finished detailing the contents of my bedroom back in LA, he made a protracted pause instead of continuing along.

"Is that it?" I was both relieved and sad. Monopolizing the conversation was something I was unused to, but it had felt good telling him what I could about me.

"Not even close – but your aunt will be home soon."

"Julia!" I glanced out the window at the roiling clouds, unable to determine the time by them. "What time is it?" I scanned the face of my wristwatch, shocked to see how much time had lapsed.

"It's twilight," Edward murmured, staring off into the west. There was a resigned quality to his voice, as if he were sorry to see the day end.

I looked, too, realizing that yet another day had come and gone in my life; leaving me unchanged. Was that how he felt, too?

His eyes shifted suddenly back to mine and I could almost _read_ the sadness in them, "It's the safest time for us."

His statement didn't make sense to me right away. Then I realized he must have seen the question in my eyes. His assumption wasn't correct, but it did bring up an interesting topic.

"The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way … the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?" His smile was wistful.

So he did feel the same about the passing of time as I did. Well, that was one thing we had in common, at least.

I smirked whimsically and looked out at the ever-present gloom, "When I was a child, I used to think that. But I've grown to like the night. In LA, I used to love watching the moon rise over the ocean." I sighed and turned back to him, "But I think I miss the stars the most. It's been years since I've seen them." Casting another annoyed look out at the pouring rain, "And it looks to be a few more before I have the opportunity."

He laughed – probably at the dour expression I was wearing – and the mood lightened.

"Julia will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell her that you'll be with me Saturday …" He raised an eyebrow.

"Tempting … but no." With notable stiffness, I gathered up my bag. Apparently Volvo and Porsche had something in common – they didn't design their cars for long-term occupation. "Is it safe to assume that tomorrow is my turn again?"

"Certainly not!" The feigned outrage on his face was comical – in an angelic, drool-worthy so of way. "I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"Did your ancestors come from Spain?"

He looked taken aback, "No, why?"

I smiled in a teasing way, "Because you seem to be attempting to recreate the Inquisition."

He smiled back at me, "Not quite."

"Honestly, though. I can't imagine what else you could possibly want to know."

"You'll find out tomorrow." With a knowing smirk, he leaned across me to open my door. The proximity of his face to mine – not to mention the rest of his body – sent my already overworked heart into overdrive.

Suddenly, the teasing smirk on his face was gone, replaced by tense concentration, "Not good." His hand was still frozen on the door handle.

Barely breathing, I whispered a response, "What is it?"

His brief glance at my face was stressed, his strong jaw clenched. "Another complication."

Before I could voice another whispered question, the door was flung open and Edward all but cringed away from me.

From around the nearest corner, a pair of headlights set high above the ground swung toward us, illuminating the Volvo's interior. Seconds later, the vehicle – a dark colored truck – pulled up to the curb just in front of us.

"Julia's around the corner," Edward warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

Without further prodding, I stepped out of the car at once. The barrage of noise was greater outside and I pulled up the hood of my jacket. Futilely, I looked into the truck's cab, but I couldn't see anything more than that there were two figures in it. Confused and curious, I glanced back at Edward as I shut the door. He was still sitting there, staring defiance and frustration at the unknown occupants of the other vehicle, his glorious face ghostly illuminated by the still-lit headlights.

As soon as the door was shut, Edward turned on his headlights and sped away. But not before I could see the rusted, dented Chevy emblem on the front of the red truck's grill.

I froze, knees locking like a colt's. The only thing going through my mind now was a memory of a beaten up red Chevy truck, two inhuman stalkers, a shotgun, and the threat of being watched.

My heart jumped into my throat as my frantic eyes scanned the two figures.

_Dear, God!_ I thought with a thrill of true fear coursing through me, _What did I do?_

The sharp creaking click of the driver's side door opening snapped me back to the moment. Without thinking further, I began backing away from the dreaded truck and the people I was sure were inside. My hands came up in front of me in a shielding way as I slipped and stumbled backward over the sloshing lawn.

"Hey, Lily!" The voice was familiar – husky and boyish at the same time – and absolutely nothing like any of the ones I'd been expecting.

I stopped moving and stared hard at the lean figure emerging from the vehicle. It wasn't until I saw the long fall of dark hair framing a not-yet-mature set of russet features that I figured out who I was seeing.

"Jacob?" The question was rhetorical, I knew who it was. For a moment, relief washed over me. Then I remembered who Jacob's father was. Billy Black.

In that instant, Julia's car pulled around the corner, her headlights clearly illuminating the two people opposite me. This time my exhalation was a terse mix of relief and jittered skittishness. Jacob continued the climb out of the cab, his brightly smiling face lit up with more than the residual florescence. Unable to move, I watched as Jacob went around to the passenger's side of the truck, readied the collapsible wheelchair, and helped his father into it.

Those frighteningly familiar, overfull features were in no way comforting to me. Billy Black's eyes were fixed on me, staring out from a face set in hard lines. Instantly, I felt like I had been placed under a microscope. Dark eyes scrutinized me, narrowed with suspicion as his nostrils flared.

_What now?_ I thought as I stood there, transfixed beneath the weighty stare of this strange, shamanistic man.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Have I mentioned how much I like leaving chapters in Cliff Hangers? Well, I do :D

**More Food For Thought:** It's been nearly 48-hours since Lily dropped the 'I Know What You Are' bomb in Edward's lap. He's had an entire DAY to ask the 'tough questions' about her and her past. And yet ... he hasn't. The question then becomes: Why not? What is he waiting for? What is he afraid of ...?

_Translations:_

monsieur oiseau de nuit - Mr. Night Owl


	12. Chapter 12: Bonding

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N**: I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

**NOTE:** This happens to be a long chapter and it is yet another Cliff Hanger! My wonderful, kind Beta has suggested that I post this along with the next chapter - just so I don't TOTALLY torture you all. But ... we'll see ;P

In this chapter, we get to see what's up with Billy's visit. More so, we get to watch as Lily prepares for her day with Edward - and how he reacts to her car ...

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12:<strong>

"Hey there, Billy!"

I jumped as Julia's voice sounded behind me. Grateful to have something else to look at – aside from the accusing stare of Billy – I turned to face her.

"I didn't expect to see you today." She walked straight past me and leaned down to hug him.

"Billy! Jake!" Another voice, male this time, called from my right.

Again, another jump, as though I were guilty of something.

"Hey, Charlie." Billy's deep resonant voice echoed through me.

I glanced toward the newest member of the company. Police Chief Charlie Swan was a tall man with pale skin, dark brown hair receding a little at the front, and eyes the color of rich milk chocolate. I'd seen him a few times, though never in a social sense.

They all continued chatting away despite the rain, leaving me feeling a little like an unwanted eavesdropper. The only person paying me any attention at all was Jacob, and his look was a little more than appreciative.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you driving, Jake." Charlie said with mock severity.

"We get permits early on the Rez," Jacob smiled back, in on the joke, apparently.

"Sure you do," Charlie glanced back at the truck. "Don't teach you to park very well then, do they?"

"I parked just fine!" Jacob was defensive.

"'Cept my house is back that way about thirty feet." Charlie motioned over his shoulder at the two story white house.

"Figured we'd stop by Julia's for a bit to say hi before coming in," Billy said, smiling jovially at Charlie and Julia in turn before casting me another wary look.

I cringed, couldn't help it.

"How nice." Julia motioned toward the house, "Come on in, before we all wash away."

At that invitation, I was moving. Quickly, I unlocked the door, leaving it open as I stepped aside to hang my jacket up. When he came in, Jacob smiled warmly at me and I smiled back, a little tentative. The only solace I had in the presence of all these people in my house was this: at least Billy wasn't here with Uley or the wolfboy. Perhaps I'd done nothing wrong.

Switching on lights as I went, I tossed my sodden bag into my room before continuing on into the kitchen. If there'd been any, I would have poured myself a tall glass of something a lot stronger than the water I was settling for. Underage laws be damned – I think I might have deserved it … and needed it.

"This is a surprise," Julia's voice floated back from the living room.

"It's been too long," Billy answered back. "I hope it's not a bad time."

"No, it's great. I hope you all can stay for supper."

I fumbled the glass of water I'd been filling in the sink. _Dinner?_

"We were actually going to watch the game at Charlie's this evening," Billy said.

Sighing inside, I gathered my cup and went back to the living room.

"Yeah, 'cause our TV broke last week," Jacob said, flashing me a grin.

I saw Billy cast him a censuring look, "And Jacob here was interested in seeing Lily again, of course."

Jacob's face went bright red before he ducked his head in embarrassment. His reaction was mild.

The glass of water I'd been lifting to my mouth slipped out from my suddenly slack fingers and clattered to the hardwood floor. Every head turned in my direction as I let out a hissed expletive. At least it had been in French ….

"Sorry," I knew I was flushing, too. "I'm such a klutz." Snatching up the now-empty glass, I retreated back to the kitchen for a towel.

As I wiped up the spilled liquid, I chastised myself for my carelessness – both in relation to the mess and to Jacob. I'd been cordial at the beach, sure. But I must have left him with an impression of _more_, as he'd been anxious to see me again. Straightening, I saw a dark hand reach down to offer me assistance. Being raised in a more genial time, I took it without thinking.

"Thanks," I said, trying to avoid Jacob's dark eyes.

Everyone else had gone back to their conversation, having deemed my clumsiness and resultant reaction unimportant.

"You're welcome."

Returning through the kitchen, I deposited the now soaked towel into the hamper.

"So, how are things?" Jacob asked.

"Just fine." I smiled despite myself. There was just something about his enthusiasm that was hard to resist. "And for you?"

"Pretty good. Is something wrong with your T-Bird?"

Confused, I tried to analyze his question for a hidden meaning. His face was open, curious. Nothing more. With clarity, I realized that he must have assumed that since I had been in someone else's car when he'd arrived.

"No, I just got a ride with a friend."

"Nice ride," Jacob's voice was admiring.

Over our own conversation, I heard Charlie invite Julia and I over to his house to watch the game. Internally I groaned. Sports weren't my forte, but Julia's acceptance meant I'd be included nonetheless. Not that I'd have opted out anyway. If Julia was going, then Billy might have a chance to tell her about my spending time with Edward.

When I returned to my own conversation, Jacob's face was expectant. I realized he'd asked something I'd missed.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said I didn't recognize the driver. I thought I knew all the kids around here, though."

"Hmm," this was a question I didn't particularly want to answer.

"Lily!" Julia's voice called out from the living room.

"Excuse me," I stage whispered to Jacob. "Coming!"

I poked my head into the living room, "Yes?"

"We're going to go watch the basketball game at Charlie's house. Did you want to come?"

"Sure. Do we need to eat first?"

"We were gonna order a pizza, actually." Charlie said.

"I can cook, if you like." The offer was out of my mouth before I had time to wonder about the wisdom behind it.

"That's sweet, Lily. But I haven't gone grocery shopping yet …." Charlie looked a little chagrined.

"We could watch here," Julia suggested. "I mean, we're already here and there's more than enough room." Her smile was so innocent and expectant that I knew before the concessions were out of the men's mouths that they'd give in. It really was difficult for people to refuse her anything.

_Great_, I thought. _I guess I'm cooking after all._

"Catfish alright with everyone?" I pasted a happy smile on my face.

After agreement from all involved, I went straight back to the kitchen to begin prep. It wasn't two minutes before Jacob returned to the previous topic.

"So, who was it?" He was returning from pulling the catfish out of the refrigerator.

Sighing with resignation, "Edward Cullen." I kept my voice low, not sure whether Billy could hear me over the commotion from the game.

To my surprise, Jacob started laughing.

Confused, I glanced up at him, a half-battered fish fillet in my hands. What was so funny about that?

There was embarrassment on his face, below the amusement. "Guess that explains it, then," he said. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange."

"Strange?" I returned to prep work, doing my best to appear interested rather than terrified.

"Yeah, he doesn't really like the Cullens."

I was suffering from an acute case of 'word vomit' today. It seemed like there was nothing I could do to create a barrier between what I thought and what I said.

"Seems to be a _thing_ around the Reservation." I actually bit my tongue when that slipped out. My tone was harsh, judgmental. I blushed crimson and cringed visibly, "Sorry, Jacob. I'm just a little … tired today."

He didn't seem offended, actually. "It's true enough. Most people out there don't like the Cullens."

"Why not?" Did everyone believe the legends I'd been told? Surely there had to be skeptics. Scarier still, did everyone on the reservation know about the werewolves among them?

"It's just a lot of superstition, really." Jacob casually leaned up against the counter as I placed the first fillet into the frying pan.

"Superstitions?" The question was two-fold. First, I wanted to know if he believed in the stories himself. His tone had been blasé, nonchalant. Second, I wanted to find out if the stories he knew were the same ones – same versions – as those I'd been privy to.

"Yeah, you know. Fairy tales and myths that old people tell about the time before civilization." He waved his hands, giving the impression of mystical mumbo jumbo.

Well, that answered the first part of my question.

"What types of fairy tales?" The popping, crackling sounds from the pan were loud enough that I thought our low-spoken conversation would have gone unnoticed in another room. Therefore I felt safe delving into this topic. Under other circumstances, aside from ones in which Jacob and I were completely and utterly alone, I wouldn't have dared.

"Well," he looked a little sheepish. "We're not really supposed to talk about it."

I smirked conspiratorially, "Is it a secret?"

"It's _supposed_ to be."

"Supposed to be?"

"Yeah, well, most of us kids don't believe it anyway. So it doesn't really matter, in my mind."

Another smile, "I can keep a secret." _Boy, could I ever_.

"Alright." He leaned toward me, lowering his voice. "I'll bet you didn't know that Native Americans have tales about werewolves and vampires!"

I tried to limit the amount of shock on my face and in my voice. It seemed that, yes, these were going to be the same stories. "Really?"

He had raised his hands in readiness for gesturing when Billy's thick voice called out from the living room, "Jake! Can you get me a glass of water, please?"

We both jumped and Jacob's chagrined face was the mirror of my own. We both knew exactly what had happened – though Jacob wasn't aware of my _in the know_ status.

"Later," he mouthed to me and fetched the requested beverage.

I stuck around in the living room after I'd served dinner to the basketball enthusiasts. For the whole two and a half hours, I politely engaged in meaningless chatter with Jacob while listening to the brief snippets of conversation from the others. From everything I could hear, Billy wasn't breaching the topic of the Cullens at all. When at last the game clock had run down and victory congratulations were finalized, I was wound as tightly as a spring. Absently I wondered whether it was possible for me to suffer a stress-induced heart attack – I was over one hundred, after all.

"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Jacob asked as he pushed his father over the lip of the threshold.

"I don't know …," I hedged. Even if they were going back, I was sure _I_ wasn't welcome. Billy's eyes tightened ever so slightly, but he didn't look at me.

"That was fun, Julia. Charlie." Billy smiled at them.

"Come up for the next game," Charlie said and looked to Julia. "You guys can come, too, if you like."

"Sure, sure." Billy said. "We'll be there. Have a good night." For the first time since the start of the game, his eyes shifted to meet mine. His smile faded to be replaced with speculation, "You take care, Lily."

I pasted a smile on my face, "Of course." Was that a warning? A threat?

Within seconds, the house was empty. I all but sagged in relief and headed for my bedroom, anxious to be alone for a few precious moments.

"Wait, Lily." Julia spoke from the doorway.

My breath caught and I forced myself to turn slowly, rather than swirling in a rush. Had Billy gotten a chance to say something anyway? What would Julia think of my spending time with Edward? She'd been cordial enough at the hospital – not to mention the unspoken suggestions that I was allowed to date. But would that have changed for some reason?

Instead of the suspicious or angry look I was expecting, Julia was grinning widely.

"I never got a chance to ask you about your day. How'd it go?"

I let out my held breath, smiling at my luck. "Good."

"Anything fun happen?"

Quickly, I skimmed over the mundaneness of my school day to provide a detail that wasn't top secret. "My badminton team won all four games today."

"Really? I didn't know you could play badminton." She seemed impressed.

Flushing I muttered an answer, "I can't. But my partner is rather talented."

"Oh. Who's your partner?" Genuine curiosity.

"Mike Newton." Again, I'd failed to think through the ramifications of my answer before letting it fly.

Julia's eyes lit up and a knowing light glinted in them, "Oh, I know the Newtons – nice family. Why didn't you ask him to the dance this weekend?"

"Julia!" I threw up my hands in frustration before settling them on my hips, "He's dating my friend Jessica. Besides, I told you I wasn't ready to go on a date."

"Going to a dance isn't the same thing as going steady with someone, you know." Again, the concern.

"I know that." _Sort of … kind of. _"But I didn't want to get someone's hopes up, just in case."

"I thought you liked dancing, though."

Sighing in resignation, "I do. I'm just not ready to share that with everyone else yet."

Her mouth set in a line, her brows furrowed. "Okay. I'll drop it."

"Thanks," truly grateful. "I have to get on my homework. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

* * *

><p>Despite the worries of the evening, I slept soundly, dreamlessly. My mood was light, chipper, even – as though I hadn't a care in the world. Putting an unusual amount of effort into my hair, I hummed Beethoven before emerging from the bathroom. Julia was seated at the table again, her usual coffee and bagel in hand.<p>

"You're in a good mood this morning," she commented between bites.

I smiled brightly and shrugged, unconcerned with anything – least of all the strange visit from the Quileute elder last night. "TGIF, right?"

She laughed.

I was completely ready when it came time for Julia to leave; teeth brushed, bag by the door, shoes on. Even so, Edward was in the driveway waiting before I risked a glance out the window to see that Julia was out of sight.

I climbed into the passenger side, as though it were the most natural act in the world. My unusually restful night had done more than lighten my mood. It had returned my confidence, in some small measure. I devoured him with my eyes, taking in the stunningly crooked smile on his face and the pale unity of his clothing against his skin.

"How did you sleep?" he asked. His voice flowed over me like a caress and I closed my eyes for a brief moment in rapture.

"Quite well, thank you. And how was your night?"

"Pleasant." There was something _amused_ about his grin that made me feel as though I were missing a crucial part of the joke.

"Might I inquire as to your activities?" I knew the answer already, but I felt there was no harm in asking.

"No," his grin grew more mischievous. "Today is still _mine_."

* * *

><p>People were the subject of today's discussions. He'd wanted to know all about Alex and Steph; what we'd done together, their hobbies. He even asked about Julia and the few friends I had here at school. Considerately, he stayed clear of the topic of my <em>real <em>parents – the ones he thought I'd lost in a vampire attack. I was grateful. I wasn't sure how honest I'd be under those circumstances. Would I tell him about the last family I'd lived with? Would I make something up? Or would I tell him about Marie, Francois, and my cousins? It was difficult for me to lie to him – I knew this through experience. So, more likely than not, I'd have told him as little about the real attack as I could whilst muddying the timeline sufficiently.

When the subject of past boyfriends came up I flushed in embarrassment but managed to sidestep the minefield by admitting that I hadn't had a boyfriend, ever. For some astonishing reason, he seemed as surprised as Jessica and Angela had been.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?" His tone was so serious that I wondered what he was thinking behind it.

I bit my lip, trying to decide how honest to be. Well, I'd been frank about everything else. No reason to stop now.

"I wasn't really ready to look before …," I let the statement trail off into silence. He'd assume I meant 'before the attack'. It was the truth. The reality of the timing was just off. "And after that … well, you can imagine that I found it hard to _relate_ to anyone. So I didn't look for anyone in LA either."

His lips pressed together in a hard line and I wondered if I'd yet again stuck my foot in my mouth.

Our low-spoken conversation was taking place in the cafeteria now. I was quickly becoming accustomed to the strange, desirable routine we had going. It felt natural – normal, even. In his silence, I nibbled another bite off the bagel I was holding.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," he leaned back in his chair, still looking at me speculatively.

"Oh?" Yup, I'd gone and pushed him too far with my honesty. I was loathed to see our camaraderie fade. Why couldn't I just … shut up?

"Yes, I'm leaving with Alice after lunch."

"I see," I blinked, a little confused. As his meaning sank in, I was relieved. He wasn't ending our friendship. He was taking some time off from school. Nothing to worry about. "Not to worry, I can just walk." It wasn't that far – despite the rain.

He frowned disapprovingly at me, "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your car and leave it here for you."

"I'm afraid I left my key at home." I smiled reassuringly at him, "It's fine, really. I don't mind walking." I _minded_ losing an entire afternoon – and possibly part of the evening – of my time with him.

He shook his head, "Your car will be here, and the key will be in the ignition – unless you're afraid someone might steal it." He laughed, amused by the idea that someone would find the old T-Bird a worthy grand-theft auto target.

"Of course I am! After all, the T-Bird is in such high demand and so inconspicuous that we'd never again find the culprit or the car!" My words dripped with sarcasm.

He sniggered again. It was a deliciously wonderful sound.

Seriously, now. "Honestly, Edward. You don't need to go out of your way."

"I'm not."

"As you wish." I was skeptical, to say the least. The key could be anywhere, in truth. After he'd started picking me up, I hadn't kept track of it. For all I knew, it was lost in the bottom of my laundry hamper.

He seemed to feel the challenge in my agreement. His crooked smile overconfident.

"Would I be breaking the rules to ask where you're going?" I was trying to be casual, but I'm sure some of my moroseness leaked through.

"Hunting," he answered grimly. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." His face grew plaintiff. "You can always cancel, you know."

Quickly I lowered my gaze from his. His eyes were far too _persuasive_ to meet when I was in opposition to him. I refused to be convinced to fear him – real as the danger was. My decision was made, now I had only to follow the prescribed path. _I know what matters,_ I reminded myself then met his eyes.

"No, I can't."

Darkness swirled behind the amber hue and a bleak look set upon his brow, "Perhaps you're right." I understood immediately. He thought that I couldn't say no because I'd been mysteriously enthralled by him. He didn't understand that I'd fallen irrevocably in love with him. That was why I couldn't say no.

I didn't like dwelling on this topic. It was needless. Unless he said so outright – which I knew he never would – nothing had changed.

"At what time should I expect you tomorrow?" The glumness was ill-masked in my voice.

"That depends … it's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?" He considerately offered.

"No." My answer was too quick and he restrained a smile. What he didn't realize was that sleep wasn't always a peaceful retreat for me. I'd had far too many nights of blissful oblivion. Sooner or later – and I was betting on sooner – the dreams would come back. They never left for long ….

"The same time as usual, then," he conceded. "Will Julia be there?" There was hope in his voice.

"No. She's working the morning shift then having dinner with a friend." I already knew the friend was Charlie, but I'd refrained from questioning her.

His voice turned sharp, "And if you don't come home tomorrow, what will she think?"

He was baiting me, and we both knew it. Coolly, I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, "You'd know better than I. But I assume she'll think I'm off doing something teenager-y."

He scowled at me, anger and irritation roiling in his eyes. I stared right back. His anger might be fractionally more impressive than mine, but I was no shrinking violet. I was set on my course. The only way he could change it would be to not show up tomorrow.

After a few tense, silent moments, I changed the subject. "What are you hunting this evening?"

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." Bemusement rolled off him – as though he found my casual reference to his alternative lifestyle funny.

"By choice or necessity?"

"Choice."

"Do you and Alice often hunt alone?"

"Occasionally. But in this case Alice is the most … supportive." A frown played at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

Supportive. Well, that was certainly one way to put it. Another I might consider was 'least homicidally inclined'.

"What of the others?" My question was timid, quiet. I thought that they could probably hear me, but it seemed less obvious to whisper it.

"Incredulous, for the most part." His brow puckered with thought for a brief moment.

I couldn't help myself. As though drawn to the quartet of magnificent figures, my head turned in their direction. I was concerned I might meet a pair of unfriendly eyes, but it appeared to not be an issue. Just as the first time I'd seen them, they were staring off in different directions, not eating and not talking. A twinge of remorse passed through me as I returned my eyes to Edward. Not exactly the same. Now, their bronze-haired brother sat across from me, his golden eyes troubled. I wasn't depressed by his presence, more by the apparent breech I'd opened between him and his family.

"I can't blame them. I wouldn't much like me either, were I in their place."

"That's not it," he disagreed. The lie was in the overt innocence of his expression. They didn't like me. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

I closed my eyes, grimacing, "Again, we're in accord. I can't pretend to understand it either."

When I opened my eyes, Edward was shaking his head from side to side, his eyes breaking contact with mine only long enough to enact an exaggerated roll. "I told you – you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever met. You fascinate me."

I raised an eyebrow in skepticism, sure he was attempting to appease me.

A smile spread over his perfect features as he interpreted the meaning behind my look. "Having the advantages I do," he murmured, brushing his hand discreetly across his forehead, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you … you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

I scoffed quietly and looked away, my eyes passing to the distantly familiar table, "Most find that quality annoying rather than intriguing." His verbal decipherment of my spasmodic nature was embarrassing – and dissatisfying. I sounded more like an experiment in psychology rather than a friend.

He chuckled softly at my biting remark, the sound washing over my ears like warm waves. "That part is easy enough to explain," he continued. I could feel his golden eyes on my face, but I wasn't ready to look back at him. I preferred my face to be devoid of the resigned acceptance it now held. "But there's more … and it's not so easy to put into words –"

My eyes were still roaming the Cullen table, examining each of my biggest critics with appreciative speculation. Without warning, Rosalie's face turned and her eyes met mine. Hatred poured out from those dark chasms – made even more impressive by the stunning contrast to her beauty. I'd seen this kind of look before and I froze, unable to breathe or look away. My world contracted into a very small tunnel which connected me and the breathtaking blonde vampire thirty feet away.

From my left, I heard Edward make a sound, low and deep in his throat – reminiscent of a hiss.

Rosalie's intense eyes released me, her head turning toward him before returning to pointless study of the brick walls of the cafeteria. Air rushed down my tight throat into my lungs and the tunnel faded into obscurity. Quickly, I turned my face back to Edward's – knowing confusion and fear held my eyes wide.

Mine wasn't the only expression altered. Tightness tugged at his features as he explained, "I'm sorry about that. She's just worried. You see … it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly …." He broke eye contact and looked down at his hands resting on the tabletop.

"If?" The question wasn't necessary. I had a pretty good idea of the answer already.

"If this ends … badly." He dropped his head into his hands – just as he had in the restaurant in Port Angeles. Anguish weighed heavily on his lean frame and I longed to comfort him. To that end, I slowly reached across the table toward him, meaning to take one of his hands. But I stopped before I was halfway across. He might not appreciate being so casually touched by me, despite the innocence behind the intent.

On a base level, his cringing declaration had frightened me – I wasn't insane or completely devoid of survival instinct. Even so, I found empathy to be the more dominant emotion – and not only empathy for him, but so too for his family. This had to be equally hard on them. Here they were, living their lives in the best way they could, when along I came to ruin everything. I'd captured the interest of their brother and pried from him their deepest, darkest secrets. Not only that but I further risked their anonymity by consorting with him in the open. Edward was a vampire, the youngest member of a coven. Few things could come from our involvement – and none of them optimal. Either Edward would kill me or I would eventually have to leave him. In the case of the first, Edward would be an automatic suspect – especially since he and his family would need to immediately leave the area. As to the second, the Cullens' secret would never again be confined solely to the members of their own race. I would carry that knowledge with me throughout eternity.

I made the decision in a split second, knowing full well how much it would hurt. "Edward," his name was poisoned honey on my lips, bringing my heart to an aching stop for a moment.

He looked up, apology and pain warring on his face.

I opened my mouth but found it suddenly dry, my body lacking of air. Closing my eyes and licking my lips I continued, "I'll understand, if you don't come tomorrow." There it was again, that twinging pain in my chest, just to the left of my sternum. Internally, I wondered how many times a person could experience that before their heart would give up.

He was suspiciously silent, enough so that I had to open my eyes to be certain he was still there. He was. His golden eyes swept over my face, examining every angle of it.

"Thank you," his voice was quiet, full of compassion. "But I'll be there in the morning – if I'm still welcome, that is."

"You are."

So much we were risking for this friendship. Idly, I wondered if it meant as much to him as it did to me. Did he feel as alone among his family as I felt with mine?

We stared into each other for long moments. I wished with all my heart that I could know what he was thinking. With amusement, I realized he might be wishing the same. However, I was grateful he couldn't hear it. His open declaration of the acceptance of any consequences of our association had made my heart soar – though I was certain he could hear that. I just hoped I was worth it ….

"You need to leave now?" My voice was a little husky, but I couldn't help it.

"Yes." He smiled a moment later, "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology – I don't think I could take any more."

I opened my mouth to comment that I wasn't much looking forward to the end of the film either, when Alice was suddenly standing behind his shoulder. Her inky black hair was arrayed in a spiky halo around her pale, elfin features; dark elegant clothing draped over her willowy, graceful form.

He greeted her without looking away from me, "Alice."

"Edward," she answered, never taking her eyes from me. Her voice, while a high soprano to his smooth tenor, was as enticing as his.

"Alice, Lily – Lily, Alice," he introduced us, gesturing casually over his shoulder, a wry smile on his face.

"Hello, Lily." Her smile was friendly, though the depth of her obsidian eyes were unfathomable. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Edward flashed a dark look at her. Truly like siblings.

I smirked at the interplay, "It's a pleasure, Alice."

"Are you ready?" She finally looked down at him.

His voice was aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

She left without another word; her walk was rhythmic, sinuous.

"Shall I wish you luck, or simply good night?" I smiled ruefully.

"Either and both will do." He grinned back.

"In that case," I placed my hand over my heart, "good luck and good night." My playacting didn't quite disguise my reluctance.

"Thank you." He still grinned at me, "And you try to be safe, please."

"Such an impossible challenge you set for me."

"For you it _is_ a challenge." His jaw hardened and he leaned forward, "Promise."

Giving him a patronizing look, I raised my hand as though taking an oath, "I promise to try to be safe." Then, with a mischievous wink, "So much for doing my laundry. I might fall in the washer and ruin my vow."

He laughed and stood. I rose as well, loathed to see him leave.

"I'll see you in the morning," I sighed.

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" he mused.

I shrugged glumly, "I supposed it does."

His face turned serious, "I'll be there, bright and early." Then his face split into the crooked smile I adored as he reached across the table and brushed his hand along my cheekbone. My breath caught and I worked to keep from leaning into the touch. Without another word, he turned and walked away, my eyes glued to his retreating form until it was gone from sight.

* * *

><p>The high-flying emotions I was riding on dissipated with his distance. By the time the bell rang, I was sorely tempted to skip the rest of the day. My only deterrent was the reality of gossip. If I disappeared now – just when Alice and Edward had – everyone in school would assume I was with them. If I failed to return on Monday, speculation would turn immediately – and wholly – upon them. Therefore, with dragging feet, I proceeded to Biology.<p>

I was under no delusions about tomorrow. Edward and I had been dancing a fine line since our friendship began – since the accident, if I was being completely honest with myself – and we couldn't continue teetering there. What happened between us tomorrow would step us over either one side or the other. And what happened was utterly dependent on his decisions – or his instincts. Despite that, I couldn't bring myself to regret my choice. Life had been scarcely bearable before him. It would be unlivable without him, now. One way or the other, I wasn't going on without him … at least for now.

I may as well have slept through Biology, the pages of my notebook scrawled with multiple sets of dark eyes. Gym wasn't much better, though at least Mike and I were back on speaking terms. His resigned wish of a good time for me in Seattle brought up the perfect opportunity for me to help alleviate the social strain on Edward. Carefully choosing my words, I informed him that I wasn't going after all. When he asked me why, I said that the T-Bird wasn't up for the trip.

"Are you going to the dance with Cullen?" Mike's voice was sullen, sulky as a young child's.

"No. I told you I'm not going to the dance."

"What are you doing then?" his question was just a bit too proprietary.

The urge to snap at him to butt out rose in me, but I squashed it down.

"I've got to make a few phone calls, do some chores, and some studying. There is a Trig test on Monday, after all."

"Is Cullen helping you study?"

I groaned, "_Edward_," I emphasized. "And no, he is not helping me study. He's gone away for the weekend." At least lying to Mike was easier than lying to Edward. It was almost second nature, now.

"Oh," he perked up. "You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway – that would be cool. We'd all dance with you," he promised.

The vision of Jessica's incredulous face – not to mention Lauren's – flashed before my eyes and I let out a sigh of exasperation, "Look, Mike. I don't want to have to say this again. I'm _not_ going to the dance, all right?"

"Fine." He was sulky again, "I was just offering."

No he wasn't. He was pleading. For some unknown reason, he'd gotten it in his head that a relationship with me was _still_ a possibility. I didn't understand his logic. Had I not made myself _perfectly clear_ on multiple occasions that I _wasn't interested_?

* * *

><p>Redressing was a sluggish process. Despite his assured cockiness, I very much doubted that Edward had managed to unearth my missing car key. I wasn't especially looking forward to walking, but it seemed a better alternative than catching a ride home with the still-sulking Mike. To my astonishment, though I suppose I should have believed him capable of anything, at this point, my car was parked in the same spot his Volvo had been in that morning.<p>

Shaking my head incredulously, I opened the unlocked door to see my key in the ignition and a small piece of white paper lain on my seat. I got in and closed the door before unfolding the missive. Two words were written across it in his elegant script.

_Be safe._

For several long minutes I sat there staring at the half-dozen letters before me. In a way, they acted as both plea and warning. If I was truly being safe, I wouldn't go with him tomorrow. I'd stay home, cooped up in my own solidarity until it was time for me to leave this life. But I couldn't do that – wouldn't.

The growling, snarl of the engine turning over was so loud that I jumped, despite expecting it. I adjusted the mirrors and seat back to their optimal positions and pulled out of the lot, laughing at my own skittishness.

Everything at home was exactly as I had left it. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought Edward used some form of magic to summon my wayward key to him without ever having entered the house. But there was something of him lingering there – a faint trace of the smell that was uniquely his.

Standing in my bedroom, temporarily alone and forgotten by the rest of the world, I was consumed with worry. Contemplating my own possible demise wasn't a pleasant topic, to say the least. Rather, it was a necessary one. In spite of the long, long years I'd wished for death to whisk me away from this world, I had never actually sought it out. Searching myself in a way I hadn't done before, I found that I wasn't really ready to die. In a way, I feared death more than I feared the prospect of living forever – more than I feared being returned to _him_. The reasoning was simple. In the last ninety-odd years I'd come to believe myself some sort of unholy abomination. In that time, my faith – once strong and consuming – had faded to be replaced by a cynical, reluctant acceptance of my circumstances, as I saw them. But, even now, vestiges of it remained intact. As miserable as my existence here on earth might be – had always been – the tortures waiting for me after death would be far worse. For where else did creatures such as myself have to go but Hell?

A flash of Edward's face passed before me and a question sounded from deep within. What of him? Vampires were creatures of myth and legend – universally believed to be evil incarnate. The rote theology of my early years echoed back that, as I, Edward would be condemned to the fiery pits of Hell, too. Even my last personal admonition rung strongly of that old conviction.

No. I shook my head as though to add emphasis to my denial. Vampire or not, Edward was a good person. Despite superstitions, he was not evil incarnate. Regardless of his nature, he'd risen above it to live the best way he could. That had to count for something. Besides, he'd once been completely human – something I couldn't claim. Even before Italy, I'd been cursed.

Tears were leaking out of my eyes as I sank down to the bed.

* * *

><p>Rough shaking woke me and a voice I only vaguely recognized ordered me out of bed. I opened my bleary eyes, unable to see much in the still-dark room. Uncle Francois stood over me, moonlight illuminating his hulking form.<p>

"Get up! We're off to see the priest!" His tone held all the contempt and fear that I'd suffered from him yesterday.

_Yesterday_. The image of Ames lying beneath the shattered remains of the barn door slammed into me with nearly physical force. Tears sprang once more to my eyes, but my uncle had no patience for them or me.

"Get up!" He cuffed me once for emphasis and left the room.

I didn't dare dawdle longer. Swiftly yet quietly I dressed in the dark, pulling on the same dress I'd worn the day before. Appearances were the least of my concerns. Especially if we were off to the priest so early.

Despite my aunt's fervent insistence that I'd been forgiven the wounding of Ames, I knew my uncle didn't agree. From the time I was old enough to understand such things, I had known that my uncle bemoaned my presence in his household. Had it not been for Aunt Marie's firm stand on the matter, I likely would have been turned over to an orphanage before I could walk.

It wasn't his fault, though. Uncle Francois was a hard working man, a pious man and I was not an easy child to contend with. At an early age, there had been signs of my peculiarities; shelves collapsing or pictures falling from the walls during a tantrum, answering questions that had not been asked of me, things along that nature.

My uncle's form appeared once more in my doorway as I slipped into my shoes. When he saw me, teetering on one foot as I tied the laces of my other shoe, he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me after him. I was unceremoniously heaved up into the driver's seat of the wagon, left to scramble to the opposite side before he clambered up.

The ride to town was silent. I didn't want to know what we were going to the church for – though I was afraid I already knew. I only prayed that whatever they did to me wouldn't hurt too much.

The looming steeple came into view as the sun rose over the horizon and I felt my heartbeat race in fear. The only solace I had was the lack of bonfire or gallows on the church lawn. I wasn't a witch, I knew that much. I'd never, awake or asleep, pledged myself to the devil.

We came to a halt out front of the doors and Uncle Francois dragged me out of the wagon's seat. My arm hurt as he hauled me up the aisle toward the altar and pulpit, my feet skittering fast to keep up with his longer, determined stride.

I half-expected him to throw me to my knees before the alter and order me to renounce my sins. But he didn't. Instead, he continued to tow me toward a door set back in the wall. My eyes were assaulted by lamplight as we entered. Blinking quickly, I could make out the form of our beloved priest seated silently behind his desk.

"Monsieur Renard," he looked once to my uncle before rising to come closer to me. There was no amount of shock or condemnation on his face for the rough treatment I was enduring. Instead, there was speculation … and mistrust for me.

Breathing heavily to alleviate the stitch in my side and the aching in my arm, I stared silently back at the dark brown eyes examining me. No hint of what he was thinking showed through those glassy orbs. My uncle released my arm with a push and another stab of pain reverberated through me.

"Lillie, sit." The priest indicated a chair and I immediately lowered myself into it.

For what seemed like hours I was poked, prodded, questioned, condemned, and requisitioned. My eyes had long since run dry, unable to produce more tears. So, too, had my voice become hoarse. I'd been made to recite my commandments, say the Lord's Prayer, and Hail Marys until they echoed within my own head. When at last it was over, the priest wore a troubled look.

"Francois, it is worse than we feared."

"What is it, Father? Is she a witch? A child of the devil?"

"No, my son. Your niece is of sound spirit."

"Then what is the cause of all these unholy … doings?" Uncle Francois cast me an angry look, as though I were not a witch simply to spite him.

"I fear she is being haunted. You informed me that her mother died in childbirth?"

"Yes."

"And that these happenings began shortly after her birth?"

"Yes."

"It seems to me that the spirit of her mother is haunting her. That she blames Lillie for her death."

"What can we do?"

"I would suggest an exorcism."

"Yes, of course, Father. Any time you can, we would greatly appreciate your help."

The priest cast a weary look over at me, "I'm afraid that I haven't the skill to deal with your niece's condition, my son. Her soul has been long at the mercy of this spirit."

"Then who?"

"Rome." The priest's proclamation was solid, like the clanging of a gavel. "I shall write and arrange for your niece to be seen to."

* * *

><p>I was shaking as the memories drifted away. Haunted. Witch. The old accusations rang through my head, hurtful as the first time I'd been subject. The next summer, we'd set out for Rome.<p>

I drew in deep, calming breaths. The clock read four and I knew I still had things to do. There may be nothing I could do about my own situation, but I could still work to make Edward's fractionally better.

To that end, I phoned Jessica under the pretense of wishing her luck at the dance with Mike. When she offered the same for my day with Edward, I told her about the supposed cancellation. My downtrodden mood helped to express the disappointment I should be exhibiting. What I hadn't expected was her level of disappointment – as though my day with Edward had had just as much importance for her as for me. I was inordinately irritated with the amount of interest she showed in him. I couldn't understand my own possessiveness, when it came to him, but there it was. Shortly after the commiseration party, I excused myself.

Julia was oddly absentminded during dinner. Normally, we shared a few brief snippets of our days. Today, though, it seemed there was something more pressing on her mind.

I hated to add to that, but I needed to cement my fabrications with her before tomorrow.

"Julia, I was thinking …."

"What's that, Lils?" She looked up from the lasagna.

"It might not be such a good idea to go to Seattle alone. I don't really know the city, after all, and it would probably be safer to have someone go with me."

"Oh," she seemed surprised. In the next moment, her face fell a little, "Did you want me to come with you? I can call in and cancel dinner …."

"No, don't worry about it." I knew she'd been looking forward to dinner with Charlie. Unless I missed my mark, she liked him as more than just friends. "I can wait for another time."

"Are you sure? I can always …."

I smiled reassuringly, "I've got tons to do, actually. I wanted to make enchiladas this week, so I need to stop by the grocery store – and then I'd like to check out the library. I'll probably be in and out all day."

"All right, if you're sure."

"I am. Go and have fun with your friend."

She smirked at me, that light playing behind her eyes, "You sure are easy to live with, Lily."

I laughed, the sound of it a little _off_, "Right back at you." It was true. She was the least invasive person I'd lived with – ever. Even so, I felt a surge of remorse rush through me as she went back to the pasta. It felt wrong to lie to Julia – she was so trusting. My own survival instinct whispered a warning in my ear and I almost broke down and told her I'd be with Edward; but the looming threat to him and his family outweighed the guilt I suffered. If I disappeared tomorrow, Julia would go through Hell. But I couldn't subject the Cullens to scrutiny.

After dinner, I retreated once more to my bedroom under the pretense of homework. Since the end of our conversation, I'd been stewing over the agony Julia would endure were I to simply disappear without a trace. I loved her like a mother. I couldn't leave her with no word, no hope. So I did the only thing I could do. I wrote her a letter. I'd leave it in my desk drawer. She'd tear my room apart, if I didn't come back and she'd find it.

Pen in hand, I began writing:

* * *

><p><em>"Julia,<em>

_Thank you. For the first time in a long time, I understand what it's like to have someone love me for me. With all of the hardships and tears that have beset you in the last few years, I agonize over the hurt this note will cause, but I can't go without telling you goodbye. After the accident, I was sure I'd never again find family. But you proved me wrong. Like you said: Family are the ones you want there on the best day of your life, and the ones you turn to on your worst. True to your word, you've been there for me during one of the worst times of my life. I can only hope that I, too, helped you through your grief._

_I know you won't really understand, and I'm sure this explanation won't be satisfactory. Even so, I have to go. Please understand that you did nothing wrong. My decision to leave is rooted in having come to terms with the fact that I need to be on my own – at least for a while. Life is short – terribly short – and I can't continue living in fear that it is suddenly going to end. I need to start living mine, and I'm afraid that I can't do that where I am. I know I'll never forget Alex or Steph or you, but I need some distance from my memories. I'll never learn to live, if I can't move beyond my past._

_I'll love you forever and I hope our paths will meet again,_

_Lily"_

* * *

><p>I was fighting back tears as I signed my name and folded the letter. Carefully, I scrawled her name on the envelope, sealed it, and placed it in the center drawer of my desk. I knew she wouldn't find it by accident. She never snooped in my belongings. But at least I could go tomorrow with a clearer conscience. The very last was a lie, but she'd never know.<p>

Seeking something _normal_ to do, I carried my hamper out to the washer and began sorting the clothes into color sets. The task was far too mindless to help alleviate any of the stress I was feeling. My restless brain kept fluctuating between anticipation – intense nearly to the point of pain – and fear. As I'd already discovered, I didn't want to die. But, just as strong, was the desire to avoid the burning, relentless pain that I knew accompanied vampire bites. In the forty years I'd been a captive, I'd been subjected to countless cruelties – bites, beatings, starvation, you name it. However, in all that time, not a one of the vampires I was given to had tried to drink me to death. Would the experience be different from the samplings I'd endured? Would it be more frightening?

Shaking myself internally, I pulled forth a reminder that I'd already made my decision. I had never in my life been a coward, and I was not about to start now. I would go tomorrow, back straight, head high and pray for the best. If this was how Fate decreed I would die, then at least it had given me this: it would be at the hands of someone I loved more than life itself. I would not be the forgotten victim of an unknown thirst.

His letter came out of my pocket and I stared longingly at those two small words. That was what he wanted for me – to be safe. Ironic as it was to have a vampire wishing safety on someone they hungered for, I was betting my life on Edward's self control. After all, what other choice was there? I was already well aware of the fact that I couldn't cut him from my life – my short time as a pariah had proven that. In the months I'd lived in Forks, he'd become an integral part of my existence. Severing contact would be akin to removing my heart – impossible to survive.

I spent as much time with Julia as I could that evening – cherishing what could be my last few hours with her. When she flicked the television off at quarter to nine, my heart lurched in anxiety. Now it was time for bed. I retreated to my room, listening to the soft sounds of Julia's footsteps on the floor above me. Quietly as a mouse, I took out a suitcase and began filling it with clothes. The farewell missive would be suspicious if none of my things were missing. Packing enough to be viable, I sealed my eventuality policy and tucked it back into my closet. I'd bundle it and my backpack into the Porsche's trunk before Edward arrived tomorrow. All that was left to do was to write him a note.

I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the empty sheet of paper before me. I started and stopped what seemed like ten times before I set the pen down. I couldn't write this … not shaking and terrified as I was. Sighing deeply I stood and walked to the dresser. Opening the top drawer, I fished out the toiletries bag and unzipped it. The small partially opaque orange bottle filled with pills rested on the bottom. The prescription had been given after my first trip to the counselor's – sleeping pills. I wasn't one to take medication under any circumstances, but I realized that tomorrow would be stressful enough without the added complication of sleep deprivation. Going to the bathroom, I filled my hand with water and swallowed the inconspicuous white tablet. There. In short order I would drift to sleep and stay under for at least eight hours.

Returning to my room, I rifled through my CDs, seeking something soothing. Chopin's nocturnes seemed the ticket and I set the music to low. The soothing rhythms helped alleviate some of my anxiety and I again set pen to paper:

_"Edward,_

_I sincerely hope that this letter will not be necessary. But in the eventuality that things should go badly …."_

The letter complete, I folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of the jeans I would wear tomorrow. The pills were already kicking in, making my movements languid, foreign.

* * *

><p>I woke without need of my alarm. Sleep had come easily, dreamlessly thanks to my drug use. I was alert, rested and yet that same frantic anxiety nipped at my heels as I got ready. The early hour left much to be desired – such as a lack of time. I couldn't force myself to face Julia again. The tenuous goodbye I'd given last night had been all I could manage. Therefore, I busied myself in the bathroom until I heard her leave. Her shift was an hour earlier today – something common on the weekends – leaving me plenty of time to stow the suitcase and backpack into the Porsche's miniscule trunk before Edward's arrival.<p>

The folded missive in my front pocket seemed to poke and prod at me like a thousand needles as I restlessly tugged at my clothing. There was nothing particularly special about my outfit – a simple tan ribbed sweater over a white button up blouse, dark jeans, and the inescapable boots – but I couldn't seem to stop adjusting the collar, adjusting the hem of the sweater, checking the fold of the blouse's cuffs. Agitated with myself, I forced my hands away from my garments. Nerves drove my right hand to seek the familiar shaped scars on my wrist, but I immediately put a stop to that. The circumstances of those wounds were the last thing I needed to be focusing on this morning. Instead, I directed my hand to the silver cross about my neck while closing the other into a fist.

Desperate for a distraction, my eyes fell on the center drawer of my desk. As though drawn by an invisible force, I walked to it and drew the drawer open. There, resting beside my organizer, was my letter to Julia. It was in exactly the same place as it had been the night before. My left hand reached out to caress the parchment envelope with hesitant reverence.

A knock on the front door sent my heart thundering in my chest. A quick glance at my clock told me Edward was exactly on time. I hurried from my room, barely taking time to push the drawer shut. It took me longer than it should have – longer than I wanted it to – for me to open the door. But at last I was facing him.

In the instant it took for my eyes to rake over him, every last trace of my former apprehension dissolved. The phenomenon was unprecedented – should I not feel more disquieted by his presence? Regardless, I was at peace – gleeful, excited, even. Maybe I _was_ insane. No one should long for sight of their guillotine as I longed for a glimpse of him.

Edward's expression was stoic as he eyed me. Then, with an amused laugh, he smiled, the quirk to his lips inviting, and shook his head slightly.

"Good morning," he chuckled.

I couldn't understand what was so humorous. There wasn't anything wrong with my outfit – I'd spent long enough this morning fidgeting with it that I ought to know – and my hair wasn't in disarray. Nor did I have some sort of smudge on my face. Perhaps it was something else. Curiously, I glanced behind myself to ensure that everything was in order within the living room. It was.

Turning back to him, I raised a questioning eyebrow, "What?"

"We match."

It took a moment for his declaration to process. When it did, I had to smile. Edward was also wearing a tan sweater over a white shirt, dark jeans, and boots.

"So we do. It must be a consolation to you, I suppose."

"Oh?"

"Yes," a playful smirk of my own. "You may not be tuned into my thoughts or actions, but apparently you are able to determine my wardrobe choices from a distance."

His smile was not nearly as amused as I thought my joke had warranted. "If only." His remark was barely above a whisper and I didn't react – it was likely not meant for me to hear. "Are you ready?"

I nodded and stepped aside, motioning him into the living room.

He seemed confused, "Isn't your car in the other garage?"

"The T-Bird is." I fought back a knowing smile, attempting nonchalance.

He seemed taken aback by my response, his eyes darting across the yard to the free-standing garage several yards away. When they returned to me, there was open question in them.

"We're not taking the T-Bird." I motioned again for him to enter.

He did so slowly, intrigue on his face now rather than uneasiness, "I do recall warning you that I wasn't bringing a car."

"You did." I closed the door, locking the deadbolt and handle before working my way through the house to the internal garage door.

"Might I inquire as to which vehicle we are taking? I was under the impression that Julia was at work."

"She is," I opened the heavy door and pressed the light button for the automatic opener.

The midnight blue Porsche spent most of its time under a car cover. This morning, however, I'd had to remove it to place my luggage in the trunk. Light reflected off the beautifully rich surface, lending a mysterious air to the paint job.

"And we're taking _my_ car." My self-satisfied smile took in the look of shock that crossed his face. It was clear that he hadn't expected this.

He slowly stepped past me into the garage, saying nothing. From the threshold, I watched him circle the car, an appreciative look on his face. "This is yours?"

"Yes," I laughed a little. All right, so I was feeling a little smug.

"How?" His hand brushed along the _911 Turbo_ script with adoration.

"I told you that Alex liked cars," I ventured into the room, coming to stand with my hand resting against the driver-side mirror. "This was the last car he bought before he died. I inherited it after the accident."

His next look at me was speculative, "You are full of surprises, aren't you?"

I shrugged, "So it would seem." I couldn't help needling him a little, "And you thought I couldn't identify a BMW."

Without further preamble, I drew the key from my pocket and opened the driver-side door. A quick glance at his face revealed his hesitation.

"Come now, a deal is a deal." I slid into the seat and waited for him to follow suit.

Moments later, Edward was seated next to me, eyeing the dials and manual gear shift with skepticism. "Have you ever driven this before?"

The purring of the engine coming to life was exhilarating, "Wouldn't you like to know."

I adjusted the mirrors and seat – Jason was about five inches taller than I – and pressed the button to open the garage door. With the ease of familiarity, I maneuvered out before looking back to my passenger, "Which way?"

"Put your seatbelt on – I'm nervous already."

I rolled my eyes in exasperation but complied.

"Which way?" My repeated question might have been just a tad on the annoyed side.

"Take the one-oh-one north," he ordered.

It was unnerving, attempting to concentrate on the roads while feeling his eyes roaming over me. More so for the overwhelming desire which demanded I fix my eyes upon him. His reluctant admission of nervousness also weighed heavily upon me. I wasn't particularly keen on increasing his unease, so I drove more carefully through the early morning streets.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

His veiled insult put me on edge, "Would you rather I run her through her paces here in town?" I revved the engine for emphasis and gave him a dirty look.

I received one in reply.

"I thought not." I returned my eyes to the road but picked up the speed to a more normal pace.

In short order, we'd left the town limits. Now, instead of the manicured lawns and cozy houses, the road was sandwiched between thick walls of greenery.

"Turn right on the one-ten." His instruction came after we'd been on the one-oh-one for several miles. Silently, I obeyed, keeping my wonderings to myself.

The interchange was small, the road going east only two lanes. Once through the turn, I glanced at him, awaiting further directions.

"Now we drive until the pavement ends." There was a faint smile on his face.

As his mood lifted, I felt better about increasing my pace – within reason. The speedometer climbed toward eighty and I felt the thrill of released adrenaline.

"And what lies at the end of the blacktop?"

"A trail."

"We'll be hiking?" Well, that was unexpected. At least I'd worn comfortable shoes.

"Is that a problem?" I could almost _hear_ the smugness on his face – as though he'd known I wouldn't be expecting the activity – but I didn't risk a glance to confirm.

"No." There was uncertainty in my voice, though I'd tried to disguise it. It'd been some time since I'd gone wondering through the woods. Longer still since it had been for recreational means ….

"Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry."

_Only_ five miles. I kept my snide retort to myself, knowing it would only serve to amuse him at my expense. The average person walked at between two-and-a-half and three miles per hour over even ground. Throw a steady incline, loose rocks, and unseen hazards such as exposed roots into the mix and that same person would be lucky to make two miles an hour. Granted I was slightly faster and more agile on my feet than the average human, but, even so, I'd spend most of the day hiking to and from wherever this destination was. I just hoped he wouldn't become too annoyed with my limited progress ….

"What are you thinking?" His impatient question came after a few minutes of silent contemplation from both of us.

Better to fudge the particulars. "I'm curious about where we're going." It was true. It just wasn't the foremost thought on my mind.

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice."

We both glanced out our windows at the thinning clouds above. The whispy streaks would be lucky to last another hour.

I smirked, "Well, it certainly is nicer out today. I guess Julia was right about it being warm."

"And did you tell Julia what you were up to?" he asked.

"No."

"But Jessica thinks we're going to Seattle together?" He seemed relieved by the idea.

"No."

"Why not?" The beginnings of anger tinged his voice.

"I told her and Mike that we'd canceled the trip." Well, it was true. "They think you've gone away for the weekend somewhere."

"No one knows you're with me?" Yes, he was definitely angry now.

Keeping my eyes forward, "Your family does, I assume."

"That's very helpful, Lily!" His voice cracked like a whip.

Squaring my jaw and my shoulders, I didn't dignify his insinuation with an answer.

"Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?"

"No." I slowed my speed, catching sight of a warning sign indicating the end of the pavement was approaching. "You already said how much trouble being seen with me in public could cause …."

He interrupted me with a bitingly sarcastic remark. "So you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me_ – if _you_ don't come _home_?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before nodding my head in agreement.

We fell silent for the rest of the trip – an indignant, disapproving, infuriated silence on Edward's part. His anger was nearly tangible – feeling a bit like a wave of extreme heat rolling off his body. I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't about to apologize. I'd done the right thing – the responsible thing where it concerned his family. Even, to a lesser degree, the responsible thing for my family. If I died with Edward here today, Julia would assume I'd run away. Suppressing a cringe, I was suddenly grateful that I hadn't told Edward about the letters ….

* * *

><p>Where the blacktop ended there was a small dirt area for parking – large enough for two cars, at best – and a rickety wooden sign labeling the thin earthen path leading off through the woods. Sliding into an unmarked spot, I emerged from the car, nervously avoiding his anger. Now that driving was no longer a distraction – or, in his case, a deterrent – I didn't know what to expect.<p>

The heat beneath the leafy canopy was heavy, muggy with evaporating moisture. Since the incident in Italy, I had found my sweat glands weren't as active. This was both a blessing and a curse. Perspiration was a means of cooling the body during exposure to heat. So, while I tended to avoid the wet, stickiness of exertion, my internal thermostat was much more impressionable.

In the interest of comfort, I slipped the tan sweater over my head and unbuttoned the cuffs of my light cotton blouse. With practiced hands, I rolled the sleeves to just above my elbows before tying the discarded garment around my waist.

The sound of his car door opening and closing made me glance in his direction. Like me, he'd removed the tan sweater he wore. He wasn't looking at me. Rather he was staring off into the wilderness to the south.

"This way," he barely glanced over his shoulder at me – annoyance still plain on his features – and walked across the road toward the dark forest.

"But the path …," I took a hesitant step after him, my eyes darting to the security of the well worn earthen route continuing east.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it." He stepped off the shoulder of the road into the overgrown foliage.

"Edward …," my voice hitched in barely restrained panic. I had a justifiable fear of unknown places. Whenever I moved into a new region, I made a painstaking effort to familiarize myself with my surroundings. Out here, I was flying blind.

"I won't let you get lost." He turned then, a mocking smile on his face.

I had started forward the instant he'd stepped off the road – I didn't want to be left behind – but came to an abrupt halt at the sight of him. Edward's sleeveless white shirt was unbuttoned to the waist but that wasn't what caught, and held, my attention. In all my wildest imaginings, I had never thought to see so much of him. That smooth white skin, so resembling marble, hugged the contours of his chest, highlighting the exquisite musculature of his stomach until interrupted by the striking contrast of his low jeans. Instantly, the warmth I felt wasn't solely due to the temperature.

I drew in a gasping breath as I tore my eyes away from his naked flesh. I could feel the flush color my cheeks as I stared down at the blacktop beneath my shoes. His perfection was not for me to ogle. And even if circumstances were different, I wouldn't deserve it – or him.

"Lily?" His voice was full of concern.

Right. He'd said something. I thought back to whatever concern had previously occupied my attentions and felt the tingle of anxiety creep up my spine. Lost. That wasn't really the concern. I could eventually find my way out of the forest, even without his help … eventually. It was ironic, in a morbid sort of way, my fear. I spent so much of my effort – and money – on staying under the radar that one would assume I'd be comfortable off the beaten path. But I wasn't. Unfamiliar places had proved an anathema to me.

He stared at me, bewilderment and concern on his face.

"Do you want to go home?" His quiet offer was full of pain – one different from those I'd heard before. He thought I was changing my mind – rejecting him.

"No." Deliberately taking charge of myself, I walked forward until I was close beside him. I might be uncomfortable here, but I was with him. There was no excuse to waste even a moment of the time we had together.

"What's wrong?" His voice was gentle now, utterly devoid of the previous anger and agitation.

Biting my lip, I scanned the wall of greenery before me. I couldn't adequately explain my fear to him without bringing up events I'd rather he never learn of. So I settled on a lesser concern. "I don't spend much time out here," I indicated the forest before us. "I won't be able to keep up with you very well. You'll have to be patient with me."

"I can be patient – if I make a great effort." He smiled, his liquid honey eyes melting into mine and trying to warm my mood.

My heart lurched at the sight and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of despair. There was nothing I could ever do to deserve Edward in my life – and even less under a romantic pretense. My answering expression wasn't quite a smile, though I tried.

He scrutinized my face, "I'll take you home." It was a promise but an ambiguous one. With a total lack of elaboration, neither of us could be sure of what stipulations held that oath in place. Hope offered it as unconditional. Pessimism dictated a time limit – one in which the departure was immediate.

I chose to be an optimist. He thought my hesitancy was grounded in the fear that he would take me into these woods and kill me. I couldn't deny that the thought had crossed my mind – after all, I'd prepared that letter for Julia and packed some items into the car – but it was minor at best. Again, I was grateful that I was the one person immune to his telepathy.

"We didn't come this far just to turn around." I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, "Lead and I'll follow." _Anywhere …._

He stared at me for a moment more, trying to understand my expression. With an effort, I wiped the foreboding emotions from my face. Again, the quick scan of his eyes. When I remained stoic, he turned and led the way into the woods.

* * *

><p>The trek wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd expected. The steady southern incline was mild and the undergrowth sparse. Adding to the ease was Edward's gentlemanly manner. He held aside whatever foliage lay in our path and aided me over fallen logs or boulders – the brief brush of his cold skin against my elbow sending my heart into erratic rhythms.<p>

Conversation was limited as we ventured ever deeper into the wilderness. Sporadically, he would question me on some topic he'd yet to cover during the last two days – specifically concerning my youth. For a change, I was as truthful as I could be. My childhood had been rather cloistered – home schooling, few friends – so there was little to say. Being raised on a farm, however, seemed to thoroughly intrigue him.

"Really?" He actually stopped and turned to study my face.

We'd been hiking for a few hours, the tranquil sounds of the forest filling the prolonged silences.

"Yes," I came level with him, giving him my own examining look. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, I just assumed you were a city girl."

I laughed in a sardonic way, "Only recently."

"I thought you said you didn't spend much time out here." He motioned around us.

I gave myself a mental slap upside the head. I _had_ said that, hadn't I? Well, it had been more than a few years since I'd lived on a farm.

I shrugged, trying to make it seem nonchalant, "I don't – not anymore. It's been a long time since I've spent much time outside."

"How long has it been?"

I felt the instinctive clench in my stomach that warned of danger. Edward wasn't being threatening in any way – far from it, he seemed conciliatory. My problem was that I could neither lie nor tell the truth and that left me feeling trapped. All I could do was hedge the subject.

"A few days before the attack." That was the best I could do – answer with something ambiguous.

"Ah," he fell silent again, leading us forward.

In a way, his termless surrender of the subject made me feel more guilty than my lack of answer had. He was so accommodating on that front – more so than I had a right to expect. Had he not revealed _all_ of himself to me? What right did I have to keep secrets from him? None, that's what. And hence the stem of all my issues regarding Edward. I could never deserve him because I could never be completely honest with him – and he deserved no less.

* * *

><p>A slow and steady ache had begun in my calves by the time I caught the distant sounds of running water. Coupled with the brightening of the streaming light sneaking through the surrounding foliage, I was certain we were approaching a break in the treeline. Would this be it? Had we finally reached our destination? A rush of excitement coursed through me at the prospect of leaving the shady confines of this endless forest … followed swiftly by the dampening of nervousness. Would this be it?<p>

He was beside me again – his default positioning over the trip. He hadn't said anything in the last fifteen minutes. Was he thinking the same thing I was?

"What are you thinking?" Normally, it was his question, but I was itching to know.

He smirked over at me, "I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"_I_ was thinking that this has been a very long five miles," I gave him a significant look tinged with amusement. "Aren't we there yet?"

His answering laughter echoed off the surrounding trees in great bell-like peels. It was louder than I was used to but not unpleasant. "Nearly," he chortled again at the lift in my mood and pointed. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

I could – though it was too early for normal eyes to have caught the change. "Edward, I'm not sure I can see the forest for all the trees."

He laughed again and needled me back, "Maybe it's a bit too soon for _your_ eyes."

"_My_ eyes?" I raised a challenging brow at him. "And who's mythology has them turning into an airborne rodent whose ocular capabilities are oft in question?"

His smirk grew more pronounced, "Myth."

This time it was my turn to laugh. He'd come back at me with the same blatant proclamation he'd presented during our first open conversation. Chortling to myself and shaking my head in amusement, I continued forward.

Shortly after we'd fallen silent, the light took on a distinctively yellow tint and I knew I'd been right about the end of the trees. Eagerly, I sped up, longing for the warm caress of the sun's rays on my face. Edward fell behind, noiselessly allowing me to take the lead.

With hurried hands, I brushed the last splay of ferns aside and stepped out into the sunshine. To my stunned senses, it was as though I'd stepped out of the twenty-first century and straight into a Monet. The ever encroaching trees edged the small glen like a ring of emerald while the sprinkling of muted violet, yellow, and white wildflowers fluttered like butterflies over the long grass. Overhead, the sapphire sky was a flawless backdrop to the golden globe of the sun. Perfect. That was barely an adequate description.

Lost to the untouched glory of nature I walked forward, my hands brushing the tops of flowers and grass as I moved. Over the perfume of flowery scents, the crisp aroma of clean water floated along the soft breeze from the south. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose, allowing my head to fall back and the sun to kiss my face. This must be what heaven looked like.

The thought resonated through me as I stood there, listening to the serene emptiness of the world around me. Maybe _this_ was the closest I'd ever get to heaven. If so, then I only had one person to thank.

I glanced over my shoulder having assumed that Edward would have continued to follow me but he was not there. Confused, I checked over my other shoulder. No. He wasn't there either. With sudden alarm, I spun completely, scanning the outskirts of the meadow. Fear of being abandoned out here in the unknown surged within me as I tried to locate him.

After a few furtive scans, I spotted him. He was standing at the edge of the glen still beneath the deep shadows of the canopy. His eyes were on me, cautious. For a few moments, I stood there staring stupidly at the gorgeous boy who lingered ever long in the foreboding darkness of the forest. Had I done something wrong? Was I not supposed to cross the threshold without him?

He stared back, no hint of his thoughts in his expression.

I was about to return to his side, certain I'd committed some form of faux pas, when a quick flash of his eyes up to the sky returned my misplaced memory. In my wonder at the beauty of the glen, I'd completely forgotten _why_ Edward had brought me here. His promise. He'd agreed to show me why he couldn't go out into the sunlight when anyone else was around.

Once that settled in, I was both anxious and cautious. If this was something which gave Edward pause, then it was something I should also be weary of. Even so, I wanted to know. In fact, I imagined that there was very little about Edward which I wouldn't want to know.

Taking a deep, steadying breath I stepped toward him and held out my hand. I meant for the gesture to be reassuring, but there was no way for me to hide the open curiosity in my gaze. He didn't move, eyes still reluctant. I could understand that, even if my inquisitiveness urged for him to hurry along. Like me, Edward was concerned over the impact his revelation would have. Despite my long standing habit of taking his disclosures well, he feared that this would be the one which would drive me away. I knew it wouldn't. Now, if only I could make him believe that.

_It's all right, Edward_, I thought at him – wanting, for the first time, for him to hear me. Holding his gaze, I smiled reassuringly and took another step forward, beckoning him to me.

His shimmering eyes hardened, tightening at the corners, and he held up a warning hand.

I halted my advance but refused to look away. Again, I sent a thought at him, _Trust me._

His chest heaved in a deep breath, his shoulders squaring in determination. Slowly, but with no more hesitation, Edward stepped forward into the midday sun.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** You can't say I didn't warn you - 'cause I TOTALLY did! Maybe, if you're REALLY lucky (or I get a lot of reviews ...) I'll post the next chapter in a few hours; like I did with 8 and 9. ::wink, wink, nudge, nudge::


	13. Chapter 13: The Meadow

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

I'm going to be pretty busy this week, so I decided to go ahead and post this early. I'd LOVE to hear what you think of it!

Now that Lily and Edward have reached the meadow, what happens next? Well, read and find out ;D

**WARNING:** This chapter gets a little ... _tense_. It is not a lemon by any means, however, it's probably about as close as I'm going to get in this book. So ... You Have Been Warned!

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13:<strong>

The breath I hadn't known I'd been holding rushed out in a gush. The creature walking toward me at a slow, measured pace was unbelievable. Everything I'd ever seen in my entire life hadn't prepared me for this. I couldn't have said what I had been expecting. It just hadn't been this.

He was magnificent and so foreign, that I couldn't wrap my head around it, at first. Had it not been for the familiar golden honeyed intensity of his eyes watching me, I wouldn't have been able to reconcile the being in front of me with the Edward I knew. The direct sunlight had altered him in a way I wouldn't have believed possible, had I not seen it myself.

Tiny prismatic rays of light reflected off the smooth contours of his skin, transforming the air between us into a cascade of rainbows. The closer he got, the more fantastic the myriad of colors became. When he came to a stop, merely a foot from me, it was as though I was bathed in his majestic aura.

He became still as a statue as soon as he stopped, only his eyes held any life to them. I consumed him with my eyes, raking them over every inch of exposed skin. The luminosity was enthralling. From so close, it reminded me of the sparkle of uncut marble in direct light. But there was nothing rough about his skin. Nothing – not a flaw, a pore, or even a mole – stood out against the creamy perfection of his pallor.

Hesitantly, I brought my hand up, wanting nothing more than to touch him. The flowing mirage of color rolling over my own skin gave me pause. It was such a poor imitation of the ethereal glow emanating from Edward.

Before that train of thought could carry me away, I shoved it aside and met his eyes.

"May I?" I didn't want to touch him without permission. Doing so would be more than a violation of his privacy or boundaries.

The tense emotions behind his eyes shifted and his stony brow furrowed, "Don't I frighten you?"

My hand advanced, moving of its own accord to touch his chiseled jaw. With great effort, I stopped myself before my skin met his. Looking deeply into his topaz eyes, I felt the truth bubble up from behind the denials.

"Yes," I curled my fingers into a ball so as to prevent them from stretching forth to caress him. "But you already knew that."

He closed his eyes in resignation, the set of his shoulders sliding just a bit.

"Edward," my voice was soft but insistent.

When his eyes opened, there was pain in them – well veiled, but still discernible.

"This," I pulled my hand away only to uncurl my fingers, letting the shimmering radiance from his skin dance across them. "Doesn't."

His gaze turned questioning as he watched me twirl my hand through the intangible beams coming off him.

It all made sense, now. This was a part of himself that he'd never come to fully accept. In a way, this was the most _obvious_ difference between who he'd once been and what he was now. Standing here, half clothed in the midday sun, there was no denying that Edward was _other_. No amount of imagination or fabrication could hide how much he'd changed.

Sympathy welled up inside me and I longed to comfort him. The only problem was, I didn't know how. It had been almost ninety-two years since the night my life had forever changed. It had taken over fifty for me to come to terms with what I'd become. And what I had become hadn't been all that different from what I'd started out as. I couldn't imagine how long it would take for someone to come to grips with being so utterly and irrevocably altered as Edward had been.

Purposefully, I ducked my head down so as to meet his lowered gaze. Confusion battled with curiosity across his sculpted face but he met my eyes. Perhaps there was nothing I could say or do that would ease his way toward accepting all that he was. But I could express _my_ acceptance of him.

Slowly, I lowered myself to the ground, sitting amongst the swaying grass and flowers. When I was situated, I held a hand out to him, "Sit with me."

* * *

><p>Had I been an alcoholic and Edward a strong tonic, I would have been considered thoroughly intoxicated. I sat beside his reclined form, drinking in the staggering perfection of him. It had taken a while but, eventually, he'd relaxed enough to close his eyes and enjoy the weather.<p>

We'd fallen silent over the intervening hours since he'd joined me on the grass. Only the brief flutterings of his lips belied the statue façade his stillness had conjured. Now and again, the lowest hint of melody accompanied the movements, as though he were singing softly to himself. The tranquil sounds of the surrounding forest lulled me into my own contemplative motionlessness. I'd been reluctant to lie beside him, preferring to perch my head on my right knee and watch his restful lounging.

There was a surreal quality to the entire afternoon. Skepticism cried out that none of this was real. That Edward, the meadow – hell, the last ninety-two years of my life – was nothing more than a cruel episode of mania brought on by hunger, the hardships of post-World War I life in Europe, and the workings of an overactive imagination. Painful as that would be, the option carried with it a certain amount of appeal. While I'd never be able to forgive myself the fabrication of Edward, and the resultant feelings I had for him, there was some comfort in the idea that perhaps I wasn't actually an unholy monster.

Looking at him lying there glorious and perfect beyond the bounds of reality, and therefore logic, I couldn't help but worry. If this were a dream, would he forever disappear into the unreachable chasms of my memory when I awoke? If he didn't, would I forever be condemned to love most someone I could never have?

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I considered the two options. Neither held any measure of hope for me. Both left me living in a world in which Edward didn't exist – a painful prospect under any circumstances.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and imagined it. I couldn't. It just wasn't there. I tried again, confused by the black emptiness before me. Nothing. It was as though my imagination was on vacation.

_Or all used up …._ The haunting sound of cynicism scratched at me. _Gone. Nothing left._

_Oh God, _I thought. Fear ripped through me as soon as the empty, echoing voice faded away. What if it was right? What if I'd used up my imagination? What if …?

Instantly, I snapped my eyes open, half terrified that everything would be gone, replaced by the monotonic darkness of my old bedroom.

It wasn't. It was all there, just as it had been when I'd closed my eyes. The only difference was that Edward's eyes were open, concerned etched in the lines of his face.

"Lily?" He eased himself up onto his elbows, "What's wrong?"

Relief washed through me at the sound of his voice. It was all right. Everything was fine. I hadn't woken up and I hadn't exhausted my imagination. Staring into the beautiful face before me, I couldn't help but be grateful. Whatever it was that had placed Edward in my life – be it Fate, imagination, or insanity, I was forever indebted to it. And if this whole thing was nothing more than a dream, then I didn't ever want to wake up.

Tentatively, I reached toward him with my left hand, hesitating a moment before letting my fingers skim the surface of his forearm. Solid, cool, and smooth as silk – just as I remembered it. There was even the lingering tingle of electric energy when I pulled my fingers away and met his eyes.

"You're really here, aren't you?" The question was barely above a whisper.

"Of course I am." His words were soft, reassuring.

It all sounded so real. He _felt_ so real. Just to be certain, I reached toward him again, pausing once more, "May I?" With a quick jerk of my jaw, I indicated his prone hand.

"Certainly." He didn't move, just watched me.

Carefully, as though I might break him, I traced my fingers over the top of his hand, reveling in the zing of contact. Instinctively, I looked up to confirm permission but he'd closed his eyes, his face turned up once more to the distant sun. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"No," his eyes remained closed. "You can't imagine how that feels." He sighed.

Shocked by his statement, I paused to examine his face more closely. There wasn't a hint of insincerity or discomfort there, only contentment.

Well, so long as it wasn't a nuisance ….

Lifting my head, I unwrapped my right arm from my leg, and leaned closer to him. Less hesitantly – though still gentle enough for a newborn – I slipped my right hand under the upper part of his palm, intent on flipping it over as I slid my left downward to meet it. My intention must have been obvious because, before I had applied any pressure, Edward's hand moved with lightening speed, flipping upward into the desired position. The familiarity of the action startled me into freezing. Edward had never done such a thing with me before, but others had.

"Sorry," he murmured. I glanced upward in time to meet his eyes before he slid them shut once more. "It's too easy to be myself with you."

"I'm not." Quick as I could, I ducked my head down. Even so, I'm sure the epic blush I succumbed to was obvious even from above.

Seeking something less incriminating to do, I lifted his hand toward my face for a closer look, cupping it in both my palms. Using my thumbs, I traced the deep creases, marveling at the texture – like satin laid over steel.

"Tell me what you're thinking," his voice was more intent than before. Risking a quick peek at his eyes revealed the same burning raptness. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"I …." My hands started to shake as I held his gaze. I knew he could feel it.

His head came up so he was facing me fully, "You can tell me, you know. Anything you want."

Taking a deep breath, I tried. "It's all just so …," I looked around, hoping to find the right word floating around in the sky. "Unbelievable – like a dream. I just …."

"You just ...?" Quiet, undemanding.

"I want to believe you're real."

His smirk was rueful, "Starting to think I'm a figment of your imagination?"

"Maybe …." My response was only a breath and I closed my eyes at the hurt it caused.

I felt him shift but I didn't open my eyes.

"Is that what you want?"

"No." My answer came immediately. I was completely honest.

"That's really not in your best interest." I felt his hand start to slide out of mine and I clasped down tightly.

Opening my eyes, I drew in a shallow breath, "Maybe not, but it's the truth. I only wish I weren't so frightened."

His eyes bore into mine, butterscotch irises burning in an unfamiliar way, "I don't want you to be frightened." There was acquiescence in his tone, buried beneath the honesty. We both knew that there were valid reasons for me to be frightened. Nothing had been resolved between us. So long as that was the case, there would always be a guillotine hanging over our heads.

I shook my head, lowering my eyes once again, "That's not what I meant. I told you – I'm not afraid of _you_."

As before, Edward moved so suddenly that I missed it. His positioning placed his angelic face scant inches from mine though his left hand remained wrapped in my grasp. For a second time his unexpected shift froze me in place – rekindling a survival response long forgotten. Shock widened my eyes and I locked them on his, searching their depths for a hint of his intentions.

"Tell me what you're afraid of, then." Like mine, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

The instinctive gasp drew in the heady scent of his breath as it hit my face. The aroma was like nothing else in the world – sweet and tantalizing. As though in slow motion, I felt the rational part of my brain be overrun by irrational desire. Like an addict, I longed for another dose of that intoxicating drug. Lost to mindless compulsion, my eyes rolled back in my head – as though in rapture – and I leaned toward him, inhaling deeply through my mouth.

There were few signs of his departure, only the whooshing whistle of fast moving air and the stinging emptiness reverberating through my hands. Even so, I felt the loss of him yet before my eyes snapped open in surprise. Like a dousing in cold water, his absence shocked my hazy mind back into awareness. The euphoric bliss triggered by his breath was gone, replaced instantly by confusion … followed slowly by embarrassment and fear.

Edward stood rigidly immobile some twenty feet from me, shaded heavily by the drooping branches of a tall fir. Even from this distance my eyes could make out the carefully unreadable expression on his face, his eyes somehow dark despite their warm hue. That purposeful emptiness frightened me more than his inhuman withdrawal had. For in his outward stoicism lay the blatant truth. I had done something which had very nearly gotten me killed.

I felt it, like the bursting of a dam, when adrenaline was released into my blood stream. Now Edward wasn't the only one on his guard. How could I have been so _stupid_? Even without spoken confirmation, I had known all along that what tempted Edward most – from the moment he first met me – was my blood. And just now I'd practically served myself up to him on a silver platter.

The staggered brokenness of my breathing was the only sound for what seemed like miles. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to run, the clanging of the all-too-familiar alarm bells echoing agreement in my head. But I knew a little something about predators. The chase was part of the excitement, part of the thrill. While Edward's hasty retreat had shown his reluctance to give in to his baser instincts, he was still – above all else – a predator. If I ran now, what small measure of control he had would likely vanish. If I fled, I'd never make it out of these woods.

So, exercising as much willpower as I could, I stayed precisely where I was, even leaving my hands cupped in the same raised grasp as they had been moments ago. When, after several long seconds, he still hadn't moved, I risked speaking. "I … I'm sorry." The words didn't even begin to sum up my feelings of shame. Could I do nothing right by him? It seemed I had been right when I'd told Julia that I brought nothing but black luck with me. Was I destined to be the death of Edward? It seemed that way.

"Give me a moment," his reply was just loud enough for me to hear over the thundering cadence of my heart.

The wait was almost physically painful. I sat there, still as a statue, daring only to take shallow breaths.

Eventually, Edward's frozen pose thawed and he walked slowly back to me. Each even, controlled step was like a shot of anesthesia to the raw tension burning through me. By the time he came to a stop several feet away, I was able to draw myself shakingly to my feet.

"I am so very sorry," his voice was soft, contrite. He made no move to come closer, gauging my reactions with careful scrutiny. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

I nibbled the inner edge of my lower lip and nodded once. The concept wasn't unfamiliar to me. Like him, I wasn't completely human – though I made a better imitation than he did, at the moment. But neither of us strayed very far from our roots. In the end, our differences didn't accord immunity to the weaknesses of our humanity. Fight as we may, temptation was still a powerful adversary.

He must have picked up on the pungent combination of adrenaline and fear leaking from my pores, because he smiled in a mocking sort of way, "I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in – my voice, my face, even my _smell_." A huff of wry amusement escaped him and he rolled his eyes skyward, "As if I needed any of that."

A slow chill rolled across my skin, raising goose bumps in its wake. I didn't speak – what could I say? We both knew that it would be pointless for me to argue.

"Nothing you could do would save you." A light glinted in his eyes.

I was frozen, a deer in the headlights. All I could do was watch him.

"But you know that already, don't you." He took a slow step toward me, that strange glint still shimmering in the pale liquid of his eyes. His voice was a seductive purr, terrifying and alluring at the same time.

"Yes." The one word was more full of confidence than I felt, standing feet from a creature that could snuff out my life with a stunning lack of effort on his part.

His frank acknowledgment of the inherent danger I was in, merely by being in his presence, frightened me more than his earlier instinctual reactions had. It was unnerving to have the infinitely complex play between us broken down so simply. But there it was. In an instant, there was suddenly no more sand left in the hourglass marking the life of our innocent friendship. We'd been teetering on the precipice far too long. Now it was time to make a decision.

He had stopped again, the menace in his eyes dimming at my confession. For a long moment, he simply looked at me, measuring.

"And still …," his head tilted to one side, curiosity morphing his features. "You're here."

"Yes."

"Why?" There was bone-deep need in his voice. For all I'd already admitted – for all I'd risked – he _still_ didn't understand.

The breath slipping through my half-parted lips sounded like a scoff. I took a half-step toward him, hesitating a moment to gauge his emotional control.

"Don't be afraid," his voice turned velvet soft, thick with emotion. "I promise …" He paused as though examining the word. "I _swear_ not to hurt you."

With exaggerated slowness, he matched the half-step I'd taken, bringing him just over a foot away.

I believed him. Gathering my nerve I finished my step, bringing our bodies less than six inches apart. His height forced me to angle my face upwards to meet his yellow gaze.

"Because," I drew in a carefully controlled breath through my nose. "What you are _still_ doesn't matter."

He did scoff at that, "Either you're as masochistic as you've often accused me of being or you're truly the bravest person I've ever met." His tone was not particularly complementary.

My face hardened, "I'm not a masochist." I rocked back on my heels, putting some distance between us. That unexplainable charge was starting to hum in the air. "And I'm not very brave, either."

"That's debatable." He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a challenging look at me, "After all, here you stand arguing with a monster as though I were just another human."

Here we were, back to this argument again. I'd had enough of hearing Edward relegate himself to the same sphere of existence as Hitler and Stalin.

"You act like those two concepts are mutually exclusive. They aren't."

The coolly confident scowl on his glorious face was instantly replaced by incredulity. His mouth opened to respond, but I plowed right along.

"You act like _human_ is synonymous with _good_. Humanity isn't black and white, Edward. There are good people and bad people everywhere. If you want proof, you need look no further than that alley back in Port Angeles," I motioned over my shoulder toward the distant town. "Those _humans_ were _monsters_, Edward – by any definition."

He continued glaring at me, unappeased.

"Labels are just like stereotypes – broad-spectrum and wholly unreliable. My history tells me I should be afraid of _monsters_. My experience tells me that you aren't one. _That_ is why it doesn't matter to me _what _you are." I could feel the tears of frustration stinging at the inner corners of my eyes and I fought to keep them back.

Dumbfounded, utterly and completely dumbfounded. That was the expression he now wore. It was as though I'd presented him with a hitherto unforeseen fact of life that was so foreign to his preexisting conception that he couldn't process it.

"You really believe that?" His voice was barely over a whisper. Had the breeze changed direction, I might not have heard it.

I nodded, "I have to."

"Why?"

"Because actions speak louder than words, Edward. Vampire. Monster. Human. They're only words – ones devoid of meaning if context is absent. I'd like to think that _who_ we are is defined by our actions – or lack thereof."

Pain flashed across his face, "I'm no innocent, Lily." He took a step away from me, turning his face so I couldn't see into his eyes. "I've done things … horrible things …." His voice faded to silence and still he faced away from me.

I stepped to his side, lifting my hand to touch his shoulder, "Everyone has, Edward – it's part of life."

"I've killed people, Lily." Without warning, he was facing me, "I wanted to kill you."

My hand stopped its downward trajectory as I stared up into the veiled golden eyes of a hunter. It took me a moment before I could see past the fear. After all, it wasn't like I'd been under any delusions to the contrary. He couldn't have always been as he was now. There had to have been a time when he'd been just like the others.

"Part of me still does." His silken voice took on an edge of menace, "You have no _idea_ how much I want you."

My lungs stopped drawing in air as my mind lost itself in the dizzying hunger of his eyes.

"It's intoxicating – the luscious smell coming off your skin, the hypnotic pulse of your heart …." He leaned closer, "It took every ounce of control I had not to jump up in the middle of that room full of children and take you. In that first moment, when your scent blew into my face, I very nearly ruined everything to have you. It would have been so easy … so fast. They wouldn't have seen it coming – nor would you."

My mouth worked silently for a moment as I tried to remember how to breathe. Edward's face was _so close_, his gleaming teeth flashing as he spoke.

"But you didn't," I rasped. I _knew_ I had some sort of point to make but his proximity was wreaking havoc on my thought processes.

"No," he pulled back slightly, his eyes returning to mine. "I didn't. But it wasn't out of concern for you." His mouth turned mocking again, "I fought because of my family. They didn't deserve to be outed like that – to have to run like criminals just so I could taste you. Though, even that didn't stop me completely."

His hand came up, and he slowly brushed a lock of hair away from my face, "I spent that entire _hour_ thinking of ways to lure you away with me – off into the woods. All I had to do was be charming – and I can be … so very charming."

My heart literally skipped a beat. It was an odd feeling, painful and yet … exhilarating.

"Ask to walk you to your next class. Detour us to the parking lot for my forgotten book." His hand stayed in my hair, idly twisting a ringlet around his fingers, "You would have come."

I forced my eyes closed, breaking contact. Drawing in a shaky breath, I managed a whispered response, "But you didn't."

"No," I could almost _feel_ the wry smile on his face. "Again, I fought myself. It was agonizing, sitting there feeling the warmth of your skin next to me, hearing the soft pitter-patter of your heartbeats … that monster inside me screaming for your blood. And, somehow, it worked. The small, rational voice within me won out over the raw, ravenous craving for you."

I felt his breath on my face, as though he'd again come closer.

"When that bell rang, I forced myself to leave without speaking to you."

As though in replay I felt him pull away, his hand leaving my hair. My eyes snapped open to see him pacing away from me. I sagged, the stiffness of anxiety rushing out of my body with aching relief.

He stopped nearly ten feet from me, turning back with a look of incredulity on his perfect face, "I thought it was over. I spent the next hour convincing myself that I didn't _have_ to kill you – even coming up with a plan to avoid further contact with you. I was so _confident_ when I walked into that office." He sniffed loudly. "But it didn't work. Just like some poltergeist sent to haunt me, you were there – the siren's call of your blood drowning my reason. I very nearly took you then. There was only one other insignificant human – so easily dispatched."

"But you didn't." It was easier to speak when there was some distance between us.

A bark of humorless laughter, "No, I ran – thoroughly shocked the others, I can tell you." His hand came up to rake through his tousled bronze hair, "By the next morning, I was in Alaska." He looked ashamed.

_Alaska?_ I was confused, though I didn't elect to speak aloud. He was on a roll and I didn't want to distract him with unnecessary detours.

"But … you came back." It was both a question and a statement. I wasn't certain I understood why he'd chosen to do so. If I was such a secrecy-threatening temptation, why had he returned at all?

His eyes flashed up to meet mine, "Yes. I didn't like running away. It felt wrong to abandon my family – my life. Besides, who were you – some mere _human_ – to drive me away from the one place I wanted to be?"

He smirked in a sardonic sort of way. "So I came back. I knew I couldn't avoid you – that disastrous first day proved that – so I took precautions. I hunted more in those first few weeks than I had since I'd first changed.

"And, despite myself, I was intrigued by you. Here I was, bored to tears and suddenly there you were, thrust straight into my path – the most tantalizing mystery I've ever encountered. The most dangerous one, truth be told."

My brow furrowed as I looked at him. Dangerous? Me?

His smile turned more genuine, "The only person in the whole world whose thoughts weren't readily available to me. After my abysmal behavior, it was an unprecedented complication. We all worried that you'd seen more than you should have.

"I listened in on every conversation you had that first morning back, expecting the worst. I wasn't used to having to go to such circuitous measures and it annoyed me … but there wasn't even a whisper of suspicion. Even Jessica's unoriginal mind hadn't conjured up any new rumors. I found myself wondering whether you'd spoken to anyone … but I couldn't know for sure. Your words were so careful – to everyone. I couldn't understand why." His golden eyes lowered to glance at my wrist before rising back to meet mine.

"So I tried talking to you – like I would with any other person. I hoped the conversation would be enlightening and I would be able to gauge your reaction to me. But again, I found myself mesmerized by you – your expressions, your careful responses." He walked back to me, less slowly than before but in no obvious hurry. "And still, every time you'd move, your scent on the air would stun me …. Time hadn't lessened your potency – quite the opposite. And I found myself battling for control yet again – that burning need to taste you. Each time, I was certain I'd lose."

"But you _didn't_."

He stopped again, this time more than a foot from me. His mouth opened as if to argue but I'd had enough.

Quickly – more quickly than I should have – I stepped to him and laid the tips of my fingers over his mouth. My heart fluttered erratically for a moment before I found my words.

"Please stop it."

His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth still slightly parted with intended speech.

"I want you to listen to me _very carefully_, Edward." He wasn't moving, his eyes still locked on mine. "You _didn't_." I fully enunciated the last word, drawing it out so as to be somewhat longer than it should have been. "You can stand here arguing the 'what ifs' and 'might have beens' until you're blue in the face – but it _still_ won't matter to me."

His brow furrowed the tiniest bit.

"Everything we've done – everything we haven't – it's all long gone. There isn't a thing either of us can do about it anymore." The feel of his mouth under my hand was distracting, so I pulled my fingers away, warning him to silence with my eyes. "All we _can_ do is deal with the consequences and try to learn from our mistakes."

As though in a trance, Edward's right hand came slowly up to gently cup my face in his palm. His searching eyes were captivating, "Are _you_ real?"

I laughed breathlessly and smiled, "Define real."

"Lily," his face turned very serious. "This isn't a game. As much as I …." He trailed off into silence.

Holding his eyes, I moved my hovering hand to wrap around his raised wrist, "I'm not playing, Edward."

His face dipped ever so slightly closer to mine, "I don't want to hurt you."

I held very still, almost _feeling_ the tension in the air between us.

We stood there, two statues frozen in the fading sunshine. That zinging electric current was scoring the flesh of my face, adding a contrasting burn to the chilling contact of his hand.

His face came down another fraction of an inch, his look hungry in a way different from before, "I really should leave …."

I tightened my grip on his wrist, "I don't want you to."

"I know." Another few millimeters downward. His face was less than two inches from mine now, "That's why I should."

My breathing was a little jagged now.

He stared at me for a moment longer, "Lily …." His other hand came up, brushing my hair back from my neck before mirroring its partner on the other side of my face. "I can't read your mind. You have to tell me what you're thinking."

I felt the flush like a rush of warmth flooding over my skin and I knew it wasn't just coloring my cheeks.

His breath caught and the pupils of his eyes dilated a little more.

My mouth was suddenly very dry. What I was thinking wasn't something I should voice. Being here, so _close_ to him like this, was like a dream … an unbelievably desirable dream. His mouth, so near, was mesmerizing. Would his lips feel the same – rock hard and silken smooth – as they had when my fingers had grazed them, were I to kiss him?

The thought sent shivers across my skin, raising goose bumps and I tilted my chin up toward his face somewhat, further reducing the distance between us. His eyes caught the movement and his hands hardened a bit to hold me in place, but he didn't speak.

He wanted an answer. He wasn't trusting to body language or his own muddied thoughts for interpretation. Where we were – locked in as intimate an embrace as we'd ever been – was dangerous. Even as engrossed in the moment as I was, I understood that. As much as Edward might want me on a physical level – and for a wonder he seemed to – there was still a part of him that hungered for my blood.

"Edward …." Like his, my voice was now deeper, richer.

My tongue snaked out to wet my lower lip as I thought of a way to express my feelings. This was … complicated – I'd never felt anything like this before. The only love I'd ever felt had been for family. Everything else – even the possibility of anything else – I'd pushed away with single-minded determination. And yet, here I was. The myriad of fears I'd once harbored toward romantic feelings replaced by the fear of missing this chance with him.

Edward's eyes left mine to watch the procession of my tongue, the color in them almost glowing.

"I …." I felt a twinge of embarrassment and stopped. Why was this so hard to say? I already knew how I felt about him – had already admitted that to myself. Why was it so difficult to admit it to him?

His eyes returned to mine, "You …?"

I bit my lip before continuing, "I want to stay with you …." I couldn't bring myself to utter the words, though I hoped they resonated in my confession.

"Lilianna …." his pronunciation of my full name caught me off guard – it was the first time he'd ever addressed me by it. It was also vaguely dissatisfying. Because it was my _assumed_ name.

Staring up into his emotion-filled liquid gaze, I found that I wanted him to say _my_ name. I wanted him to know that about me – even if he'd never understand the significance of it.

"Lillie," I whispered, allowing my native accent to leak into my pronunciation. "My real name is Lillie."

He blinked once and scanned my face, "Your real name?"

"Yes." I smiled somewhat sadly. "It was my name before …." I allowed the sentence to trail off. Without warning I could feel wetness seep from my eyes and I closed them in remembered pain.

Using his thumbs, Edward softly brushed the stream of tears away, "Shhh. It's all right, Lillie."

The accented sound of my real name on his lips was music to my ears. It had been so long since someone had used my name without a hint of malice or mockery. Taking a deep breath I fought to stem the flood of tears coursing down my face. It worked, though I was still shaking with suppressed sobs.

Faster than I could register, Edward's hands left my face only to curl around me in an embrace, pulling me securely against his stone chest. One hand stayed pressed against my lower back while the other ran soothingly through my curls. I stood there, crushed against him without fully understanding what was going on. It wasn't until I felt his marble cheek rest against the top of my head that realization sank in. Edward was holding me. _Holding_ me.

The crying came to a stop almost immediately, though I continued to tremble out of shock and nervousness. Time seemed to come to a standstill as he held me close to him, his hand never ceasing the comforting caressing of my hair.

Eventually, however, he eased his hold and pulled back to look me in the face. There was tenderness in his eyes.

"Are you all right?"

I dropped my eyes, suddenly ashamed by my display of weakness and my admission of lying, "I'm fine." Those automatic words came bubbling to the surface so easily. It was almost disgusting how easily ….

Edward's right hand pulled away from my hair, gentle as a whispering breeze against my throat, before stopping beneath my chin and applying a slight pressure to force my face upward, "Lillie, look at me."

I did, though a little reluctantly. His eyes were still so soft. Not a trace of the anger he should have felt over my identity.

"It's all right, Lillie." His smile was dazzling, warm and honest. "I'm not upset."

"You should be." I tried to look down again, but his hand was still under my chin.

"Why?"

I refused to meet his gaze – it was far more forgiving than I deserved. "I lied to you."

"No, you lied to the California Department of Child Protective Services." His smirk was whimsical.

"It's the same thing."

He shook his head, "I disagree."

"Edward …."

His index finger was suddenly pressed against my lips, though his other fingers were still curled beneath my jaw, "Stop it, please."

I stood there dumbstruck, my mouth still slightly parted against the cold iron of his finger.

"You're not going to convince me to be upset with you over changing your name any more than I'm going to convince you to be terrified of me as a monster." His expression was set, stubborn. "You did what you had to do to survive, Lillie. I'm going to be the last person in the world to begrudge you that."

I stood there, parted lips pressed insinuatingly against his finger, half-wrapped in his arms, as I processed his declaration. He didn't understand. Part of me wanted all of this to be so simply dismissed; the other part knew it couldn't be. Longingly, I allowed myself to slip into fantasy. In that private Utopia, Edward knew everything and still loved me, chose to stay with me. Hope swelled in my chest at the imagined smile upon his face as he looked at me. But that was just make-believe. Here, in the real world, he was blissfully ignorant – and self-preservation dictated that he stay that way. Or did it? Staring into Edward's beautiful, honest, trusting eyes I could still feel the kindling of that desired hope burning. Maybe I was wrong. What if it was only my own fear of rejection keeping me from being with him? Did I really want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had just _tried_?

"'_Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,"_ Stephenie's voice whispered in my head as though she were sitting beside me reading that poem again.

Had I truly fallen so far that I was willing to consign myself to an eternity of unrequited longing just to avoid ever trying to be close to someone? I loved him, plain and simple. And, because I loved him, I owed him no less than to actually try. It terrified me – the idea of telling him everything – but I didn't want to spend forever regretting that I never gave it a shot.

My jaw worked silently for a moment as I felt the tears start to well again. His eyes, which had taken on a stubborn hardness, softened again and he removed his finger from my lips, using it instead to trace the edge of my jaw. He had sworn not to hurt me. Time to have a little faith.

"Edward," my whisper was ragged with emotion, "I can't see you as a monster because …." I fell off again.

He remained silent, watching me.

"Because I … I … care for you." The 'L' word just wouldn't come out – hard as I tried – so I settled for what would form.

"Lillie," I felt his hand tracing up my back as he returned both to cradling my face. "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

My world spun for a moment, and it had nothing to do with the overload of sensations assaulting my nerves or the ragged breath of air that rushed out of my lungs. Edward's face lowered slowly to mine until our mouths were a fraction of an inch away. I could feel the cold tickle of his breath against my lips, taste the heady scent of it on my tongue.

"Be very still," he whispered.

Without conscious command, my eyes fluttered closed. It made everything he did next both more intense and more sensual. It took every ounce of self control I had not to toss his whispered directive out the proverbial window the instant his lips brushed my skin. Considering his earlier proximity, the graze of his cool mouth against my forehead, the tip of his nose skimming my hairline, was unexpected. Even so, fire erupted beneath my skin as the nerves beneath his lips came to life. It was the single most exhilarating experience of my life. I fought, tooth and nail, with myself to maintain my rigid stance as he slowly worked his way across the planes of my face – brushing his fingers across my cheekbones and jaw line, kissing my temples and the tip of my nose, running his hands through my hair, pulling my head back ever so slightly.

The first brush of his lips against the sensitive skin under my jaw almost made me collapse. I was so lost to the scorching burn of my heightened nerves that it didn't even register as dangerous. He continued downward, carefully kissing and caressing my skin until he reached my collar. When his lips pressed gently to the hollow of my throat I couldn't help the soft moaning gasp that escaped me. His left hand was pressed securely against my lower back, helping to support me while his right left my hair, trailing a string of fire as it moved down my neck.

My mind was a hazy mess by the time Edward's fingers softly traced the antique silver cross at my throat. Only a moment before, he'd been following the visible lines of my collarbone with his fingertips, "This is beautiful." His voice was a throaty purr and it sent chills all through me.

My eyes fluttered back open and I tried to force them to focus on him. His look was no less hungry than it had been before – wild with excitement and restraint – but now there was a smugness to his expression as well.

He smiled – probably at the bewildered look on my face, "That flush looks lovely on your skin." His fingers came up to brush my cheek before cupping my face again.

I managed a breathy laugh, "Yes … well …."

He smiled teasingly, "Speechless, already?"

I gave him my best approximation of a sardonic look – though my wide-eyed breathlessness might have ruined it just a tad, "Wasn't that the point?"

Pale lips chiseled to perfection curled lazily into the mind-blowingly crooked grin I couldn't get enough of but he didn't answer. Flickering flames of amusement and something more danced playfully in the tawny depths of his eyes, mere inches from mine. From so close, I could hear the soft whoosh of air as he breathed.

It took long moments, but eventually I felt I could move. Slowly, carefully, I stretched up on tip-toes, holding his gaze. When my lips were scant millimeters from his, I stopped.

"Don't move," I whispered.

His eyes slid shut and the sudden tension in the muscles of his arm – still circled supportingly around my back – and the fingers on my face told me he'd obey. My own arms were curled between us, my slack palms pressed softly against the draping cotton of his gaping shirt. Gradually, I drew them upward, clearing the rigid enclosure of his arms so that my fingertips were free to roam the cool planes of his sculpted face.

Much as he had, I allowed myself the luxury of leisurely exploration – taking care only to make no unexpected movements. Using the barest of pressures, I skimmed his strong jaw line with both fingertips and the tip of my nose, breathing in the rich aroma of his skin, exulting in the pulsing current of contact. Then slowly tracing the outer edges of his face with feather-soft caresses, my hands meeting at the peak of his hair line.

His arm tightened almost imperceptibly around me. The unintentional reaction sent a twinge of satisfaction through me.

Unable to deny the impulse, I carefully drew my hands through the soft, malleable strands of his hair, admiring the texture before returning them to his face. I traced the chiseled angles of his cheekbones, the faint arch of his eyebrows, the delicate half-moon of his eyelids, the dark hollow beneath that, the lines of his perfect nose and, finally, his flawless lips.

His mouth parted beneath my touch and I could feel the faintest breath of air caressing my fingertips. My own breathing caught at the sensation, not simply the whispering tickle of air but the growing throb of that unknown intensity between us, and my mind fixated on the shape of his mouth. To me, it felt as though his lips had suddenly harnessed the power of gravity, their sculpted perfection inexorably pulling me toward them. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stretch forth and press mine to them, sealing that faint gap with a kiss.

So I did the only thing I _could_ do. I let my arms slacken, their dead weight pulling my fingertips from his face, closed my eyes, and leaned my face into his hand. It wasn't in my best interest to push him too far. This teetering precipice we dangled over was already complex enough.

The softening of the stone hand cradling my face made me open my eyes. The hungriness burning in his tightened the muscles of my stomach, though not in fear.

"I wish …," his whisper was barely audible.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

"You wish?"

"I wish I could make you understand. It's all so … complex … so strange."

"What is?" I brought my hand up to cradle the outside of his.

"All of these … feelings." His eyes turned probative as he scanned my face, "It's all so confusing … and exhilarating at the same time." His thumb absently traced my cheekbone, "I've never felt this way … so conflicted."

"Conflicted?" My own question was barely above a whisper.

His expression turned a little rueful, "I don't want to be, but I can't really help it."

"Help what?"

"It's hard to explain …." His lips turned down at the corners as he thought, "I want you."

I sucked in a surprised breath.

"I've known since that first moment in the Biology room that I'd never wanted another as much as I wanted you. I've never had to work so hard to resist the hunger – the thirst. But now … there are other … hungers. Ones I'm not sure I understand, that are almost foreign to me." He searched my face for a hint of understanding.

I felt the blush, a wash of warmth rising slowly up my face, "I think I understand at least that part of it."

"I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

At first, I thought he was wondering whether being _human_ was always so confusing, so conflicted. Then, after a moment I understood his meaning.

"Not for me." I broke eye contact out of shyness, "I've never felt like this before." It was true. I'd never _allowed_ myself to care about someone else like this – even had it been possible.

"Lillie," his voice was hoarse, tight with restraint. The hand I'd been covering slid down the side of my face before coming to rest beneath my chin. He exerted the softest of pressures, urging me to raise my face to him.

I did so, recognizing for the first time how fragile I felt being held in his arms. Even as resilient as I was, Edward's strength reminded me of how easily I could be broken. It frightened me, in a way. I hadn't felt this physically vulnerable in a long, long time.

Worrying my lower lip between my teeth, I met his gaze.

"I don't know how to be close to you," he admitted, his tone intense. "I don't know if I can …. I just know I _want _to be." As he spoke, his face had moved closer.

"Then stay," if he hadn't been as close as he was, even he might have missed my murmured response.

His fluid eyes were like windows into his mind. From the swirling and shifting of the bright golden light I could read the tenor of his emotions. His eyes moved over my face, reading my expression. I saw it the instant he made up his mind. The honeyed hue solidified, indecision replaced with resolve. Ever so carefully, his arm tightened around my waist while his thumb moved to anchor my chin in place.

My heart was thundering at a dangerous cadence, but it wasn't from fear. From the moment I'd seen the emotional shift in his eyes, I'd known what was coming. And I wanted it – more than I'd wanted almost _anything _else in my entire life.

Edward's head dipped a fraction of an inch closer, hesitating at the last moment. Even lost as I was to desire, I understood the significance behind the pause. He wasn't pausing to gauge my reaction – there was no question that I wanted him to continue. Nor was he purposefully prolonging the moment – something common in romantic movies. No. Edward was testing himself, steeling his will against whatever vampiric instincts might arise. He'd promised – _sworn_ – not to hurt me; now he wanted to make sure it was safe.

Our eyes met one last time before he lowered his face the rest of the way. My eyes fluttered shut just before his cold, marble lips pressed themselves very gently over mine.

What happened next was nothing either of us could have prepared for.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So ... like I said: _TENSE_. I'd love to hear what you guys thought of it. As you can tell, I'm taking Edward and Lily's relationship in a slightly more mature direction than SM took Bella and Edward. This is because Lily isn't Bella - she's not a naive, emotionless seventeen year old. She just looks like one - and acts that way around everyone else. From here on out, A LOT of things are going to be different from the book. I hope you enjoy the changes and remember READ & REVIEW. Even if you don't like where I'm taking them, I'd still love to hear why - informed and well thought-out criticism is often more helpful to a writer than praise (though I always prefer the later, personally).


	14. Chapter 14: The Cup

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

What was it that neither Edward nor Lillie could have expected? Furthermore, what does this mean for them? Read and find out!

For those of you chomping at the bit for Edward to stop acting the fool, this should help. ;P

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14:<strong>

It burned, like my body had suddenly become a live wire for thousands of volts. The faint tingle and zing of earlier contact couldn't begin to compare to the boiling, explosive sensations spreading like wildfire from the ice-cold pressure of his mouth on me. Even the chill of his hand cradled possessively beneath my chin was lost amidst the fiery inferno. All semblance of control, of prudence melted away to nothing. I was consumed.

My left hand, trapped firmly between our bodies, slid from the cotton of his shirt to the smooth expanse of his bare chest, nails grazing passionately against his marble skin as my palm ran upward toward his neck. My right hand, until then hanging limply from his wrist, suddenly moved to his hair, my fingers curling into fists, locking it into place. My feet arched, stretching me onto tip-toes so that I pressed more firmly against him, my body conforming to the unyielding lines of his. And my lips parted in a wild gasp as I breathed in the intoxicating scent of him.

Edward's response was immediate, but it took me a moment to realize what had happened. The muscles of his body froze, becoming so like the stone he oft resembled. Even the influx of his breathing had ceased. Naturally, I followed suit. I locked every joint, every muscle I could into place, not even daring to open my eyes. What had I done?

After a long second of standing there, both of us trying to be as still as the statue of Adonis, I felt him shift. Gentle as a caress but with irresistible force, the hand on my chin pushed me back. The instant our lips broke apart, my eyes came open and I scanned his face.

Guarded. That was the best way to describe his expression, with his jaw clenched shut in acute restraint and his brow furrowed in effort. His eyes, on the other hand, were wild with excitement and hunger.

We stayed there, still wrapped in a frozen embrace, eyes reading each other.

I opened my mouth to apologize but couldn't seem to find the words, not to mention his hand holding my chin in place greatly reduced my range of motion.

His eyes immediately shifted to focus on the movement and he stared in a slightly fixated way, his pupils dilating minutely.

The look reminded me of nothing more than a hunter. I'd seen this look a few times before. Been on the resultant end of it more than a few …. I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach and I'm sure my face lost whatever flush it had earned from the kiss. I stopped breathing and waited. Would this be it? I'd pushed us off the precipice with my reaction – catapulted, more like. What happened now was in his hands.

Each thundering beat of my pulse echoed ominously into the emptiness between us as I waited for him to move; knowing, internally, that each pump reminded him of what was to be gained by giving in.

After what seemed an eternity, Edward's eyes slid shut and he let out a shaky breath. Sympathetically, I did likewise, my limbs turned seemingly to jelly. His instincts had lost.

When his eyes had opened again, they were more placid – though by no means tame. The golden orbs fixed on mine as he carefully eased his grip on my face.

Freed from a death sentence, I was mortified by my own careless actions. I _must_ be suicidal! What other explanation could there be for the way I'd reacted? Granted, I'd never been kissed before … but that was no excuse.

"That wasn't smart …." I fought a blush, instead plainly stating the obvious. I wanted to apologize but was still working on how to say it.

He scoffed softly, "It was … different."

I raised an eyebrow, "Nonetheless, I made that hard for you."

"That's an understatement." He didn't smile. He didn't frown. His expression stayed neutral, if a little on the tense side.

"I'm sorry," My shoulders sagged dejectedly.

His arms tightened around me and a flicker of that burning passionate light danced across his eyes before he forced them shut again.

Realizing how difficult it must be for him to be so near to me after that … episode, I decided to be proactive. "I can move, if you need …." I softly tried to disentangle myself from his grasp, taking special care to keep my actions unhurried.

Edward's grip tightened more – though still not uncomfortably, "No. It's tolerable. Please wait." His perfect articulation had returned, having only slipped since the kiss.

I froze again, allowing him time to compose himself.

Half a minute later, his grip softened and so did the intensity within his eyes. A smugly satisfied smirk overtook his face as he slowly shook his head from side to side.

"Better?" My voice was still pitched a little oddly, higher but with a vaguely _husky_ quality.

"You could say that." His hand moved from my chin, sliding lazily along my jaw before casually twining itself into the curls just below my left ear. "I'm stronger than I thought – it's nice to know."

"Stronger?" What did this have to do with his strength?

His smile ticked up a notch and he bent his forehead down to touch mine, "My control."

Ah. _That_ kind of strength. My breath puffed out in a slightly resentful huff and I adopted a wry look, "Well, that makes _one_ of us."

He chuckled softly and pulled back to look me in the face, "Not that I'm complaining …." He began to slowly draw the hand resting against the small of my back upward, "But, of the two of us, I think I'd much rather have your control be the weaker."

"Yes … well …." I couldn't help the shiver that accompanied the cool pressure of his hand as he drew it up my spine, "I suppose that's reasonable."

He laughed now and moved both hands so that they were cradling my face, "Most definitely."

* * *

><p>"If I asked you something, would you tell me the truth?"<p>

We'd worked our way to the small creek just south of the meadow. The water was crystal clear and refreshingly cool as I filled my cupped hands for a sip.

Edward was leaning casually against one of the moss-covered boulders across from me, his skin no longer sparkling with prismatic brilliance. He raised an eyebrow at me as I lifted my hands to my face, tilting them to allow the water to trickle into my mouth.

"What do you want to know?"

That wasn't an answer, and I gave him a slightly cross look before I continued, "Why did you come to see me in the hospital?"

"I was concerned."

"About my health?"

"Partially." He shifted himself in a way that made me wonder whether he was uncomfortable.

"And the rest?" I stood, shaking the water from my hands as I examined him.

He sighed, "You have to understand, I've never done something like that before. At the time, all I could think about was that I wasn't ready to lose you. I didn't think about the consequences. I just _acted_."

He paused and looked at my face.

I nodded my understanding, "But why come see me afterward?"

"It was my mistake. It was my job to put it right." He dropped his gaze to his feet.

_His mistake_. I tried not to feel the hollow emptiness in my stomach. I'd asked for the truth. He was simply giving me what I'd asked for.

"I see."

I couldn't blame him for coming to check on me. His circumstances were different than mine. Whenever someone had gotten too close to my secrets, I'd simply fled. It wasn't that easy for him. His spur-of-the-moment decision had jeopardized not only his cover but that of his entire family.

"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, almost lost to the gurgle of the nearby water.

I shook my head, "No need. I understand."

"Can I ask you something, now?"

I took a deep breath and looked up, nodding my head.

"During the accident," he paused, scanning my face before continuing. "What happened?"

The sensation of being doused in ice-cold water rushed over me as I looked at him. I wasn't sure I was ready to tell him this. It wasn't that I thought he'd turn on me or denounce me for a witch. The fact was, I had never discussed it openly with anyone. Even Marie and I had never delved into what was wrong with me. In truth, the whole situation terrified me – it always had.

My hands were the first to go, shaking as though I were standing outside in a snowstorm. Then, gradually, my arms and legs. I tried to stop it, to tell myself that it wasn't such a big deal. Considering all the other things he could have asked, this was mild – and it wasn't like he didn't already know I could do it.

While I stood there, shivering like a spooked colt, Edward watched me; his golden eyes taking in the faint tremors and tightening at the corners.

"I don't really know what it was," my words were monotone and the syllables shook with my nervousness. "It just … happens sometimes."

He watched me for a moment before speaking, "When did it start?"

I blinked quickly, trying to force the tickling sensation of tears away. Crying was the last thing I wanted to do right now.

"When I was very young." Again with the monotone. My words sounded like a dry lecture, even to me.

"Can you control it?"

"No." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Lillie, open your eyes." Edward's voice was much closer than before.

I hadn't heard him move but, lo and behold, when I slid my eyes open, he was standing in front of me.

"Thank you." His hand came up to gently brush my face.

Confusion washed over me as I looked into his sincere eyes. What was he thanking me for? I'd just revealed to him that I had some sort of … _unnatural_ ability – that I'd had it all my life. How, under any circumstances, could that be a good thing?

"For what?" My voice hitched at the end, breaking the uniformity of my tone.

He smiled in a commiserative sort of way and brought his other hand up to cup my jaw, "For telling me."

Again, this didn't make sense.

"I don't understand."

He pulled back from me, his eyes roaming over my face before he put on a sardonic smirk, "Lillie, did you forget that I can read minds?"

"No." Well, in all honesty, I had. But that wasn't really relevant. I would have remembered soon enough.

"You do understand that I don't hold this against you, right?"

I blinked, "Why not?"

"You really are remarkable," he shook his head slightly from side to side as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm a vampire, Lillie – a _telepathic_ vampire. I could be wrong, but I believe that I outrank you when it comes to 'weird'."

I opened my mouth to retort but I never got that far. This wasn't an argument that I should want to win. Winning meant revealing _everything_. And where would that get me? Nowhere. So, what was the point?

I smiled in a half-hearted sort of way.

He eyed me speculatively for a moment, "You don't believe me, do you?"

I shrugged, "I want to. It's just that I'm not used to being the _normal_ one in any situation."

He smirked, "Tell me about it." Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose.

I couldn't help laughing at the impish look on his face – not to mention the feeling of his marble lips softly brushing the sensitive skin of my nose tickled.

Playfully, I shoved his chest as he moved to wrap his iron arms around me. The next thing I knew, my head and feet had traded places. It took a moment for the suddenly epic spinning of the world to slow enough for me to register that Edward's strong arms were wrapped securely around my knees and back.

There was no missing his smug smirk, though. Barely restrained laughter danced in his tawny eyes as he looked down at my shocked expression. "Is there a problem, Miss Howard?" His tone was perfectly cordial, without a hint of the effort he was exerting to hold me so steadily in my current position.

"Yes, actually." I strained my neck muscles as I lifted my head to look around.

"Do tell."

When I realized that the creek was just beyond my reach, I had to grudgingly give up on the option of dousing him in cold water. So, in the interest of being pithy, I returned my eyes to him and adopted a serious expression, "I seem to have been swept off my feet."

"Oh? Why would that be a problem?"

"Well," I feigned looking around for eavesdroppers and then purposefully lowered my volume to a stage whisper. "We seem to be missing a band!"

Edward's laughter echoed off the surrounding trees and his body shook with mirth as he swung me back to a standing position.

"That is something we shall have to remedy, then."

* * *

><p>The sun dangled precariously close to the tree tops as we re-entered the glen, and I sighed as I realized that our time there had come to an end. As it was, we wouldn't make it back to the car before darkness fell. I didn't much relish the idea of hiking through the forest at night but at least I would be with Edward.<p>

"We should go," his voice was low and whimsical.

"I know." My tone was less than enthusiastic. It wasn't that I was loath to go home, quite the opposite. I was simply remiss about surrendering my time with him.

Wordlessly, Edward wrapped his arms around me from behind and held me as I watched the sun slowly dip toward the uppermost branches of the western trees. When, at last, the reddish-orange orb was broken by the tree line, I took one last look around the meadow – _our_ meadow.

"I'm ready," I gently squeezed his hands and mentally prepared myself for the arduous walk back.

"Lillie."

The strange hesitance to his voice made me turn. He hadn't moved since I'd stepped away from his embrace, breaking the stone circle of his grasp.

"Do you trust me?"

The question confused me at first. Even so, my answer was ready enough, "Yes."

"Then will you let me show you something?" He stepped forward and took my right hand in his, his eyes oddly intense.

"What is it?" What could make him look so … nervous?

"Let me show you how _I_ travel."

It took a few moments for my mind to process his request. How _he_ traveled? What was _that _supposed to mean? I eyed him for a moment, confusion warring with curiosity in my head.

"Are you trying to tell me that you fly?"

He chuckled and a wry look replaced the thinly veiled nervousness on his face, "Not exactly."

"Then how …?"

"Let me show you." Now there was excitement in his eyes.

"Okay …." Something deep inside cautioned that I would regret this concession.

I barely got to register the elated smile break over his face before Edward grabbed my wrist and guided me around to his back. Before I could protest, he had slung my arms around his neck and hooked his arms through the crook of my knees.

Hoisted on his back like an awkward pack, I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach.

"Edward … wha …?"

"Just hold on tight!"

The instant I felt his muscles coil my own locked into place, my fingers digging painfully into the triceps of the opposite arm. Then we were off.

The speed of light is equal to three times ten to the eighth power meters per second. According to special relativity theory, an object with positive mass at rest can neither reach nor surpass the speed of light. Yeah … about that ….

The forest blurred into one long line of brownish-green light as I clung on to Edward's back for dear life. Only the constant surge and ebb of the airflow over my skin told me we'd bypassed another of the leafy obstacles. My eyes were frozen wide in shock, burning relentlessly under the airy assault. What breaths I could manage came in short, sharp gasps of growing panic. My only thought was of what would happen to me if Edward miscalculated a step and slammed us into a tree ….

* * *

><p>"Deep breaths, love. Come on. Deep breaths."<p>

The hand pressed across my forehead was warmer than I thought it should be. The voice was familiar, though. And, if I squinted just right, the face shape was right – just kind of … fuzzy.

It took a minute before I realized that the swooshing pressure of fast-moving air was absent. Also, there was pressure against my back and butt. Blinking a few times, I concentrated on the sound of his voice and tried to comply with his request.

Breathe. Right. I could do that.

I sucked in a surprisingly fast lung-full of air which resulted in a minor coughing fit. After it had passed, I could see again – though now my eyes were watering. I was seated on the ground, my knees pulled closely to my chest, and Edward was kneeling before me. Behind him, though still slightly out of focus, I could make out the forest.

"Better?" His hand slid down the side of my face, coming to rest against my neck.

"You … you …." There was something _very_ important that I needed to tell him. I just couldn't quite wrap my head around what it had been.

"I guess that wasn't such a good idea." His expression was chagrined.

"You …. You _broke_ Physics!" Right. That was it.

Confusion replaced the chagrin on his face and he blinked once, "What?"

"You broke _Physics_!" My tone was approaching hysterical.

"No I didn't." Now worry replaced the confusion on his face.

"Yes you did!" I raised my hand and motioned over his shoulder toward the tree line, "Back there – with the running. You broke it! You're not supposed to do that!"

"Lillie, I wasn't going _that_ fast."

"But the trees … they all blurred together …." The panic was slowly beginning to subside under the gentle persuasion of his voice.

He smirked, "That's because your eyes aren't used to focusing that fast."

"I … oh." All right, so I'd exaggerated the facts a little in my shock. It's not like that wasn't a natural response.

His smirk grew vaguely wicked, "At least you'll know to close your eyes next time."

_Next time?_

The look I gave him must have been fairly comical because he laughed softly before getting to his feet and offering me a hand up.

I took it without comment and rose shakily to my feet. It took only a single glance around to recognize the roadside parking area. The solid object I'd been leaning heavily against was the rear tire of my Porsche.

"I knew you were fast, Edward. But … Mon Dieu! I didn't realize you were _that_ fast!" I was shaking my head in disbelief as I measured the angle of the light seeping through the surrounding foliage. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since we'd been standing in the clearing. To think: five miles in under five minutes.

A soft chuckle accompanied the self-satisfied grin on his face, "And just think: I had to go slower because I was carrying you."

My mouth worked silently as I took in his pronouncement and tried to comprehend the possibility that he could go yet _faster_.

"No wonder you drive so fast …," that wasn't the most _relevant _thought in my head but at least it was something to say.

Another chuckle, "Speaking of driving." His expression faded to neutrality, "I think you had better let me drive us back."

"What? Why?" Like I needed another high-speed shock to my system.

"You're still dizzy," His eyes moved down to indicate my hand still held in his. This wouldn't have been indicative of anything, had I not been leaning my weight heavily on that support.

Purposefully, I attempted to shift my weight more fully onto my own feet. Unfortunately, my knees weren't quite stable enough to allow for the strain. Only Edward's lightening fast reaction kept me from ending up as a limp pile on the ground at his feet.

"Need I say more?" Sarcasm dripped from his words as he looked down at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You know," I reluctantly reached into my pocket for the slick, silver object. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you planned this just so you could drive my car …."

He chuckled as he righted me and claimed the key, "Would you, now?"

* * *

><p>For once, he kept the speed to a reasonable pace. Either he was being considerate of my still-recovering senses or he was prolonging our time together. It didn't much matter to me. I was simply grateful for his presence.<p>

We rode with the windows down, our hands entwined on the edge of my seat, and the radio tuned to an oldies station. One of my favorite pastimes was singing along with the radio. I hadn't done it much since I'd moved to Forks – hadn't much been in the mood. But sitting there holding hands with Edward, I felt happier than I had in a long, long time.

So I sang. Right along with Buddy Holly as he whimsically assured himself that love would surely come his way. I let the happiness and hope I felt for the fresh new love between Edward and I seep into the words. And he sang along, too; every single word.

"You have a beautiful voice," he squeezed my hand at the end of the song. "I can't believe I've never heard you sing before."

I shrugged and cast him a genuine smile, "You're pretty good, yourself."

He smirked playfully, "Lots of practice."

I laughed heartily and turned my face into the wind, exulting in the feeling of my hair being swept back from my face.

"Though I wouldn't have pegged you for a fifties girl."

"Are you kidding?" I gave him a scandalized look, "Sinatra, Cole, Lewis – and let's not forget Elvis."

He laughed, "I'm not arguing with you. Music in the fifties was good. Much better than in the sixties, or the seventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable."

"Come now! The sixties weren't that bad – The Beatles, The Who, The Rolling Stones, Cat Stevens. And what about Eric Clapton or The Eagles? They made music in the seventies."

He looked taken aback for a moment before he gave me a very serious look, "One word. ABBA."

My mouth worked silently for a moment as I tried to come up with a rebuttal, "They weren't _that _bad."

He laughed, shaking his head from side to side, "We'll just have to disagree on that."

* * *

><p>It was seven-fifteen when we pulled into my driveway. I scanned the darkened windows as Edward maneuvered us into the garage.<p>

"I guess Julia is still at dinner with Charlie," I posited quietly.

"Charlie?" He turned off the engine and held the key out to me.

"Chief Swan," I clarified.

His eyebrows reached for the ceiling as I took the proffered item, "Your aunt is dating the Chief of Police?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, but I'm not supposed to know yet."

"Why not?"

"It's still fairly informal. She only told me she was going to dinner with a 'friend'." I made little quotation marks with my fingers.

"Then how do you know she's out with Chief Swan?"

I gave him an exasperated look, "They're not very good at hiding it, for starters. His number is the most common one on the caller id." I shook my head in bemusement, "Besides, I overheard him ask her out the other day."

He blinked, "You overheard them?"

I shrugged, unapologetic. "He's one of those people who talks loudly over the phone."

He chuckled softly and squeezed my hand, "Speaking of dinner …."

"Right. Food." I sighed, "I should get some of that." Considering that I hadn't eaten all day I was a little surprised that my stomach wasn't grumbling in protest. Even so, I wasn't really concerned about it. What did concern me was Edward. After everything that had happened today, I found the idea of returning to the mundane, everyday aspects of life unappealing.

"What are you thinking about?" His hand came up and he stroked the small crease of concentration between my eyebrows with his thumb.

"Time."

"What about it?" His hand came to rest on the side of my face.

"That I haven't had enough today," I closed my eyes and nuzzled into his palm. That feeling – having too little time – was foreign. For most of my life, the passage of time had been like an all-encompassing wave – a tsunami, sweeping me out to drown in the great unknown. But not anymore.

_To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven._

I had seasoned the hardships, the fear, and the loneliness of the last century. Now it was time for a little peace.

"I know the feeling." Edward's soft words broke through my reverie and I opened my eyes to look at him.

"Would you like to come in, then?"

His smile was breathtaking, "I'd love to."

Stepping through the garage door into the bright florescent lighting of Julia's homey kitchen felt a little like waking from a dream. When Edward and I had driven away from the house this morning, I had left not knowing whether I would ever see it again. At the time, I had pushed my fear and sadness aside; choosing, instead, to focus on being with Edward. But standing there, looking at a place I'd resigned to never see again, I couldn't help but feel the relief of being home – of being safe.

The feeling of Edward's fingers brushing the small of my back as he passed brought me out of my inner contemplation. I gave myself a mental shake as he took a seat at the table and headed for the fridge.

"So, what's for dinner?" Edward's melodic voice echoed around the room as I examined the tiny Tupperware containers.

"I'm thinking … chicken fettuccine." Straightening up, I scanned the nearby cupboards, "Plates … plates …."

Before I had time to switch gears, mentally, Edward was standing there. Since the last place I'd seen him had been seated at the table, I jumped involuntarily at his sudden appearance. It took a few heartbeats before I realized that he was holding a plain white plate in his hand.

"Oh … uh, thanks." I took the proffered item, blinking in confusion.

"You're quite welcome," He smiled reassuringly and leaned casually against the granite counter-top.

Brushing the incident aside, I worked my way over to the microwave. Fishing a fork out of a nearby drawer, I prepped my plate and set it to reheating. I returned the remaining leftovers to the fridge and brought out the pitcher of iced tea.

"Hey, Edward, could you …." When I stood up and turned to look at him, Edward had a large glass in his hand.

That's when I knew something was _off_.

I eased the refrigerator door shut and placed the pitcher I was holding on the counter. In the last forty-seven years, I had lived in more than thirty households. If there was one thing I had learned in all that time, it was that no two households kept their cups in the same place. Some people kept them next to the sink, some next to the fridge, others by the pantry, and still more by the table. Julia liked to keep hers in the second cabinet to the right of the stove – and not for any particular reason that I'd discerned. I had brushed off the plate as luck – people were often a little more consistent in their placement. The cup was a different matter.

I reached over and plucked the glass from his outstretched hand, "Thank you."

He nodded.

I pursed my lips slightly as I looked between the glass, Edward, and the cupboard, "How did you know where to find this?"

He examined my face, seeming to understand that something wasn't quite right. After a few seconds, he spoke, "I was curious about you."

My stomach clenched, "You broke into my house?"

"Yes."

"When?" The alarm bells inside my head began to ring.

"I'm here almost every night."

I froze into complete stillness; locking every muscle, joint, and tendon into place. The ruckus inside my head was deafening, drowning out even my own thoughts as I stood staring at Edward. Neither of us moved – neither of us breathed. Time faded into obscurity.

Eventually, the strain of holding so rigidly still cracked my control and I began to shake. After that, the first thing to register was how _cold _I was – utterly freezing. The tips of my fingers were numb and I couldn't feel anything below my locked knees.

"Why?" The question came out as a hoarse whisper.

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Edward moved; his eyes flickering over my shivering form. Then he breathed, slowly inhaling through his nose as his eyes returned to mine, "This wasn't how I planned on bringing this up."

I waited.

He took a small step forward and raised his hands to grip my shoulders, "Lillie, come sit down."

"No," I jerked away and gave him a solid glare, "Tell me why you come here at night!"

He stopped immediately, dropping his hands and sighed. "To watch you sleep," his tone was full of resignation.

The glass slipped out of my suddenly slack fingers, but I never heard it hit the ground. What I did hear were his words echoing around in my head, harmonizing with the screeching sirens in an eerie sort of way.

_To watch you sleep … watch you sleep …._

Trapped. I felt trapped – like the innocuous white plaster walls of the kitchen had fallen to rubble around me, revealing bricks of yellowing panchina stone lurking behind.

"_Ah, ma per vedere i tuoi sogni, mia piccola Velata-Una - quello che un trattamento che sarebbe!"_

I stopped breathing as _that voice_ drifted lazily through my subconscious – horribly familiar despite the decades since I'd last heard it. It slithered across my skin, colder in tone than even _his_ hands had been.

_Dear, God,_ I thought as I closed my eyes. _It's happening again._

For forty years, I had woken to the same thing nearly every single day. _His_ face staring down at me – my own personal devil. It was _his_ way of reminding me that I was property; available whenever and for whatever whim caught _his_ fancy. And I had _hated_ it – more even than the beatings or the bites – because it was the one thing _he_ could do to me that couldn't result in my death.

And here I was, more than fifty years free, going through the same thing all over again.

When I opened my eyes, I fought with my unruly subconscious to see only Edward standing there in front of me. It was an uphill struggle as my mind tried to replace the golden-eyed vampire that I loved with the red-eyed vampire who had tortured me.

My head was screaming at me to get out, to tell him to leave and never come back; that I couldn't handle being the plaything of yet another sadistic blooddrinker. My heart wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; wanted to believe that he wasn't the same kind of vampire as _he_ had been.

"How long?" It was about all I could manage to ask. How many nights had I lain in sleep, unaware of the being watching me?

He closed his eyes, his marble face emptying of emotion. When they opened again, the endless depth of them had been flattened by the shear power of his control, "Since the day Newton asked you to the dance."

At first, I couldn't reconcile his reference with a date. I had been expecting him to tell me that he'd been watching me since the accident – that would have made sense, considering what had happened and his admission at the meadow this afternoon. I had to think back very hard to remember something so mundane, so unimportant.

When I could finally place the event, I realized that it coincided with another occasion – it was the day Edward had started talking to me again. And it was only ten days ago.

"Why?" I still couldn't understand it – and I realized that I _needed_ to. As much as I loved Edward, I would never be able to forgive him if I couldn't understand his reasoning. What he'd done was beyond simply an invasion of my privacy. He'd unknowingly dug up my past and thrust me straight back into it. If he had no more motivation than curiosity, then he was no better than the other one.

"Jealousy, at first," his voice started out inflectionless, hollow. "I spent so long trying to ignore everything I felt toward you – my thirst, my curiosity. I told myself that it was for the best – for you, for me, for my family. That I could only bring more pain to your life. I worked _so hard_ to sit there beside you everyday and pretend that I was alone. And the more I tried, the more I couldn't seem to stop thinking about you.

"Then, to top it off, I couldn't manage to drown out the constant obsessive, inane babble from the likes of Mike Newton. Every single second of every single day you were on his mind – on many of their minds. At first, it was simply annoying. But, after a time, I found myself angry with him; the possessive way he thought of you, the daydreams, the …."

He faded into silence for a moment, seeming to put effort into unclenching his teeth.

"I heard it _all day_ – the work-up to asking you out. And not just from him but from _all of them_! I was wound tighter than a spring by the time Biology rolled around; and not just from the incessant nervous blather coming from his head. I was actually anxious to hear your answer."

He shook his head, as though in amazement, "You have no _idea_ how relieved I was when you turned him down – even _I_ hadn't expected to feel like that. But your words were so cautious, so polite and I began to worry. Had you turned him down out of your own disinterest or was it merely out of reverence for your friend's previous claim? I had no way of knowing.

"And then the vultures converged," a wry chuckle. "Each time you turned them down, each time that flicker of annoyance flared in your eyes and turned down the corner of your mouth, I felt that same sense of relief wash over me. But I still couldn't be sure if there was someone else you fancied."

The barest hint of emotion leaked past his control, deepening his gaze.

"I found myself outside your house that night, outside your window. I tried to convince myself to leave – to stick with the pact I'd made after the accident. It almost worked. But then, through the glass, I heard you say something in your sleep – a single word that sounded _so_ familiar. And I couldn't help myself."

My stomach did an impression of free falling, the vaguest hint of vertigo sweeping through me. In all my worry over the similarities between what Edward was doing now and what _he_ had done then, I had completely lost sight of another, more important, issue – what often happened _when_ I slept. I had known for a very long time that I spoke in my sleep – often screamed. At one time, I'd done so loud enough to waken neighbors. But that wasn't the _only_ thing I did in my sleep. Sometimes, I would move things … and not with my hands.

My thoughts and emotions apparently did not register on my face because Edward continued without pause.

"And then, as I stood there smothered in your scent and admiring how peaceful you looked, I realized the inevitable. One day you would say 'yes' to Mike – or someone like him. That idea tortured me because what I wanted – more than anything else – was for you to say 'yes' to _me_," his control broke then and pure, raw emotion filled his liquid eyes and softened the hard lines of his face. "And then you said my name – it was so clear that I thought you'd woken and found me there. But you just turned your head away and continued to breathe deeply. I knew I should leave; that I didn't belong there. It wasn't fair to you. But, when I turned to go, you spoke again – just two words. 'Don't go'.

"That was when I realized that I couldn't live without you any longer – that I didn't _want _to."

Despite the fear I felt over what Edward might have witnessed, I couldn't deny the sensation of soaring my heart was experiencing. It was a moment before I realized that I wasn't fighting to keep from making subconscious comparisons between Edward and my previous captor. Because Edward's actions hadn't been motivated purely by curiosity or cruelty. He'd followed his heart as much as his intrigue.

I nodded my head in understanding, though I still needed _more_ from him, "I understand why you came the first time – and I forgive you for intruding then. But I need to know why you keep coming every night."

This time, when he stepped forward and lifted his arm, I didn't flinch away. The back of his cold hand ghosted across my skin from my temple to my jaw, "Because I want to be close to you, Lillie. I feel empty, when I'm not with you – like I'm missing part of myself." His voice and look were utterly sincere.

I felt tears of relief prickling at the corner of my eyes, but I pushed them away as I looked at him. There was still one more thing I needed clarified, "Is that the only reason?"

He broke eye contact for a second, drawing another long breath.

"It's the dominant reason," he paused, when he heard my breathing hitch. "Though, I admit to being … intrigued by the things I hear."

I didn't understand, at first. What more could I possibly say in my sleep that he would find intriguing? We stood there, staring at each other as I tried to think back over my recent dreams. He'd been out of town on the two nights I had experienced nightmares – I silently thanked my lucky stars for that. If something _else_ had happened, he surely would have mentioned it. So, what was left?

My internal machinations were mostly conducted in English – something I strived for so as to help me integrate to the best of my ability – but, every once in a while, I would slip into French or Italian. Normally, I didn't notice this. However, as I stood there looking at Edward's face with my internal voice running the linguistic gambit, it hit me.

_Sleep_ talking. Sleep was the one time I had no control over. The one time when my memories, my subconscious mind took over. And my subconscious mind didn't care about my cover, wouldn't feel the need to maintain it.

"You … you …." The dizziness was back, full force, and I recognized the need to sit down. The dining chairs, they were the closest. I stumbled away from him toward the safety of the padded seats but my knees buckled halfway there.

Without a word, Edward swept me up in his arms and carried me through to the living room. Next thing I knew, he had deposited me onto the couch, my head somehow resting on a pillow.

He knelt beside me, his expression examining – as though he were a physician.

"You know … that I … I …." The words just wouldn't form. All this time. He'd known all this time.

"Haven't been telling me everything. Yes." There wasn't a hint of condemnation or anger in his declaration and its lack confused me.

"But you didn't … _why_ didn't you say something?" I tried to sit up, feeling that this wasn't a topic I should address laying down.

Suddenly, there was a pale arm stretched across my chest, his cold hand pressed firmly into my shoulder, "Don't get up yet. Your eyes are still dilated."

His strength was far greater than my own, so I really had no say in the matter. Even so, I stubbornly strained against him for a moment before acknowledging defeat and slumping into the cushions. He was right, of course. The dizziness wasn't fully gone. Sitting up likely would have ended in my losing consciousness.

So I did the one thing I _could_ do; I wallowed in shame and self-pity. I had been so _careful_ with my answers over the last few days. And it was all for naught. He'd known I was lying to him from the very start – keeping secrets.

"You never said anything," I whispered, my eyes closed so I wouldn't have to look at his angelic face.

"No." Again, the absence of rage or blame.

"Why not?"

"Lillie," his tone was soft, pleading. "Look at me, please."

I turned my head toward him and opened my eyes but couldn't make myself meet his.

Silence fell between us and I could have sworn I heard little pieces of my heart falling away from the whole. I'd been caught in lies before, but it had never felt like this. Shame, fear, even resignation were the status quo, but this time there was something new; the pain of betrayal – not his but mine. How could he believe I loved him, when I so purposefully lied to him?

"You can sit up now, if you like." His restraining arm was withdrawn.

I did so automatically, mechanically; still refusing to meet his eyes. I felt the cushion next to me depress under his weight, but still he didn't speak. The quiet became uncomfortable, awkward.

"I understand that you've learned to be secretive – it's been essential to your survival. We're a lot alike, in that respect."

My throat felt swollen, a sure sign of impending waterworks. I tried to breathe past it, to force the emotion down. This wasn't the time for tears. I'd made my bed, now it was time to lay in it.

"I also understand that you have things in your past that you don't talk about – that you try not even to think about."

My eyes were firmly fixed in my own lap, my right thumb worrying its favorite path over my scar. I froze, when his hand slipped softly over mine, squeezing it in a reassuring way.

"But I want you to know that you _can_ talk to me – about anything. I want you to – I want to know everything about you. But I won't force you to tell me anything you're not ready to tell me."

Shock and confusion shot through me and my eyes rose to scrutinize his face. What I found there only added to my bewilderment. Honesty.

"Now, I'm not going to promise that I won't get frustrated or curious – because it's just not who I am. And I can't promise that I won't ask questions that you won't want to answer. But, if you tell me you don't want to talk about it, I _can_ promise that I'll do my best to respect your wishes."

The first tear slipped out, streaming a warm path down my face.

"The only thing I ask, in return, is that, whenever you do tell me something, you tell me the truth. And I'll do the same with you." His hand left mine, rising to my cheek and wiping the single tear away. "Does that sound reasonable?"

There was no way that I deserved this. It was just too … _providential_ to be real. I scanned his eyes for a hint of falsehood, of resignation or humor. There wasn't any. He was being utterly serious and utterly honest.

I couldn't help the broken, sobbing gasp that escaped when I nodded my head in agreement. Then he was holding me, my face buried against the soft cotton of his still-open shirt, his hands running soothingly through my hair.

We stayed like that until my tears of mingled joy and shame faded into silence. When, at last, the shivering of emotional-release ceased, he pulled back to look at me.

A little embarrassed by my breakdown, I averted my eyes from his face. Looking for something – anything – else to focus on, I spotted the sodden place on his shirt. Wryly, I plucked at the fabric, "I think I've ruined your shirt."

His hand came up to gently nudge my chin upward.

Reluctantly, I raised my eyes to his face.

"It was well worth the ruining, I assure you." He smiled crookedly at me.

I scoffed softly, shaking my head in amused disbelief.

Now that the shock of acceptance and forgiveness had passed, my mind wandered back to linger upon his promise and request. I wasn't ready to tell him everything – I wasn't sure if I would ever feel comfortable doing that – but he had been patient and understanding this whole time. I owed him at least some answers. I didn't know what he'd want to know but his promise helped to assuage my fears.

I took his hands in mine, their stony texture somehow comforting, and met his eyes, "Thank you. It means a lot to me that you're being so … accommodating – not everyone would be, in your shoes."

He squeezed my hands gently.

"I know you have … questions," I swallowed the lump trying to lodge itself in my esophagus. "So, go ahead."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hehe, I TOLD you he'd stop acting the fool this chapter. But, now, you'll just have to wait for the next one to see what he asks and what she's willing to tell him. ;P Hope you all enjoyed. **Please Review!** (It really makes my day).

**PLEASE NOTE:** I am not fluent in either French or Italian (though I do speak a little French from High School and College courses I took). All of my translations come from Google Translate. If you are fluent and you find mistakes in my story, please let me know. I am _more_ than happy to fix them.

* * *

><p><em>Translations:<em>

Ah, ma per vedere i tuoi sogni, mia piccola Velata-Una - quello che un trattamento che sarebbe! - Ah, but to see your dreams, my little-Veiled One - what a treat that would be!


	15. Chapter 15: Answers

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Now that Lillie has given Edward permission to start asking the hard questions, what is it that he wants to know?

(This chapter is a bit on the long side, but I think you'll enjoy just how much is actually covered)

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15:<strong>

I felt his hands turn to unresponsive stone beneath my grip and my breath caught. Had I done something wrong?

After several tense seconds, he relaxed enough to speak, "Lillie, you don't have to do this now. I meant it – I won't force you."

Taking a deep, steadying breath I nodded, "I know."

His eyes scoured my face, no doubt trying to read what _I _wanted from my expression.

Carefully, I kept my features as neutral as I could, "It's all right, Edward. If …. I'll let you know, if I'm not ready to talk about something."

Again, the scan of his eyes. His eyebrows drew down in dissatisfaction before he nodded his head, "All right."

I waited, listening to the sound of my own heartbeat pounding out a steady rhythm in my chest; trying not to wonder what his first question would be.

"You're tri-lingual?"

A small measure of relief surged through me. This was an easy question – an unconfidential one. I had already guessed that he knew this much.

I nodded once, "Yes; English, French, and Italian." Better to get that out in the open right away.

"Do you speak anything else?"

Again, an easy question.

"A few words, here and there, mostly – though I understand Spanish fairly well." Like French and Italian, Spanish was a 'romantic language'. Therefore, it was similar enough, in most cases, for me to catch the general gist of what was being said.

"That's a lot of languages for someone your age," he spoke softly, unaccusingly.

I didn't say anything. He hadn't asked an _actual_ question, so I wasn't sure what he was fishing for.

"Most Americans aren't even bi-lingual." Still undemanding.

I tried not to let my sudden tension tighten my grip. It was true. A majority of Americans spoke only English – and some of them didn't speak even _that_ very well. But I still didn't understand what he was hinting at. Not for the first time, I wished I were able to read his mind.

"Though, it's more common in Europe – what with the linguistic diversity over there." His eyes stayed fixed on my face.

"Those aren't questions." I couldn't keep quiet any longer. If he asked me something, I could either answer him or decide the topic was still out of bounds. This method of mildly-pointed chitchat left me uncomfortable; mostly because I couldn't see what he wanted from me.

"True," he dipped his head in acquiescence. "Where were you born?"

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my mind automatically supplied a practiced lie: Los Angeles. I managed to keep from uttering it. He'd asked for honesty. I bit my lip as I tried to decide whether this information was confidential. There wasn't anything necessarily _dangerous_ about revealing my nationality – it wasn't likely he'd turn me over to Immigration. And, even if he did, they wouldn't have any record of me.

"Is this something you don't want to talk about?"

"No," I sighed. "It's just a little … complicated." There was that _word_ again! I really needed access to a thesaurus – my vocabulary apparently required some brushing up.

Now that I'd conceded to discussing this, I needed to decide what to tell him. The truth, obviously, but how much of it?

"I wouldn't expect anything less," he smiled encouragingly.

I smirked, despite myself – at least _he_ found this amusing.

"I was born in Marseilles," I looked down at my hands, nervous for his reaction.

He was quiet for a protracted moment, "That explains the French, then. When did you come to America?"

"Years ago." I felt a little guilty over this answer, knowing he'd assume I had been just a child. What I told him had been the truth; I _had_ come here years ago – forty-seven years ago, in fact. I just left that last part out.

My tone had edged toward uncomfortable – not unexpected, all things considered – and he must have picked up on it, because he changed the subject.

"Sometimes, in your sleep, you call out for someone – Marie. Who is she?"

My heart sputtered erratically, when he spoke her name, and I couldn't help the cringe that crossed my features or the gasp of pain that escaped my lips. He'd even pronounced it correctly.

The echo of remembered loss resounded through me as I sat there. I hadn't known that I still called for her. In a way, it made sense. She'd been the closest thing I'd ever had to a safe haven. It was only natural for me to call for her in my sleep. I just didn't remember dreaming of her … and _God_ how I wished I did.

I waited until I was sure my voice wouldn't crack before I answered him, "My aunt."

"Were you close?" He seemed a little confused by my answer, as though he were expecting something else.

I closed my eyes and nodded, "She raised me."

"What about your parents?"

I sighed and opened my eyes, looking up into his face, "I never knew my real parents. My mother …." I had to clear my throat before I could continue, "My mother died giving birth to me and my father gave me to his elder sister to raise – I was too young to remember him. So Marie and my uncle and my cousins were the only family I had." My eyes slid from his face, in the end. While I'd long treated this information as 'fact', it had always been a sore spot.

He was silent and still for so long I began to worry that my sad little story had upset him. When I risked a glance up to his face, he appeared contemplative. Our eyes met but I quickly dropped mine, not sure I wanted to know what he was thinking now.

I hadn't noticed that my thumb was worrying my scar again, until Edward's left hand carefully enclosed my right, stopping the motion. Cautiously, as though he were afraid I might bolt, he cupped my scarred wrist in his other hand, his icy thumb sweeping once over the pale bumps.

"You lost them, when you got this?" His voice was the softest, most alluring it had ever been.

"Yes," it came out as a ragged whisper. His chilly touch, so close to an area where I'd once been bitten, had set off a warning inside my head. My first reaction was to jerk away from him. Only the gentle tone of his velvet voice kept me from doing so. It helped to remind me that Edward wasn't like the others – he wouldn't hurt me.

His left hand eased its grip on my right, slowly maneuvering my wrist so that both hands lay in the same position: palm up, fingers curled, resting limply in his hands. I recognized this for what it was; a show of good faith, of freedom. He wouldn't stop me from removing my hands, if that was what I wanted – I was the one in control.

"Lillie," the tone of his voice let me know he wanted me to look at him.

More comfortable now – his surrender of control had eased my instinctive fear – I looked up from our hands.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

My gut reaction was the tell him no, to yank my hands from his grasp, get up from the couch, and leave the room. I'd already relived that experience _once_ this past week. I didn't want to do it again.

The only thing stopping me was the look on his face. His inquiry wasn't solely a quest to appease his curiosity – though hints of that were evident in his gaze. The most prominent emotion there was concern. He was worried about me. Over the last ten days, I had avoided this topic like the plague. And he had obliged without comment or complaint.

Those events had scarred me – and not just physically. They had left me beaten and battered both emotionally and psychologically. The monsters I'd encountered haunted my dreams – even my subconscious thoughts. And there was no guarantee that I'd ever be free of them, no matter how long I lived.

And Edward saw this in me, every single day – he probably heard it each night as I slept. That was why he was asking; he wanted to help me. If only he could ….

As much as I tried to avoid this topic, it was never very far from my mind. I'd long ago accepted that it always would be. There were just some things you couldn't get over. For _normal_ people, those things were usually a little more mundane – loss of a first love, the birth of a child, the death of a parent. For people like me – people whose lives were riddled with loss, suffering, and fear – _our _unhealed wounds were the perpetuating kind; the kind that forever laid the path of future hurts. We spent the rest of our lives desperately trying to crawl out from under the ever-increasing weight of our pasts. Most of us would never make it ….

But that wasn't any reason to give up trying, to give up hope.

Fear had set in – the fear of remembering, the fear of forgetting – and my body was little more than a mass of tense muscles and sensitive nerves. The one thing I was certain of was that I didn't _want_ to tell him. And I had that option. It was as little as a single word away. But part of me understood that this topic would be brought up again, and again, and again. I couldn't escape it forever. It was too central a part of me – of who I was and why – to simply be brushed aside. The only way he would never find out would be for me to leave.

Fierce concentration allowed me to see past the fear, to see his face. My heart ached at the concern there. Now there was something else I was certain of: I didn't _want_ to leave him. That didn't mean that I wouldn't ever have to – I still hadn't come to a solid decision about that. But it did mean that I had to decide whether I wanted to spend what time I _did_ have with him in limbo – forever waiting for the next time he'd breach the subject – or not.

The choice should have been simple, obvious, but it wasn't. So strong was my instinctual aversion to the issue, that I actually had to weigh the options. On the one hand, if I told him now, the topic would be over, done with – excepting the questions he would no doubt have. On the other hand, if I continued to refuse to talk about it, I would have to go through this whole examination process over and over again until I either told him or I left him. If, in the future, I decided to tell him, then I would have to deal with the fear, the pain all over again as I did so. If I continued to keep the secret, my leaving would be inevitable – simply a matter of time.

I sat there, my hands clenched into tight fists, my eyes open but blind to everything; thinking.

It was minutes before I came to a decision and it had not been an easy one.

Edward had been quiet the entire time I struggled to make up my mind. It must have been difficult for him, watching the flurry of negative emotions flicker over my face, but he kept himself from interrupting; allowing me to come to a decision on my own.

I blinked once, shaking my head slightly as my mind began to process input from my eyes once more. Then, taking a slow breath, I drew my gaze upward to meet his.

"It's not something I _want_ to talk about," my words shook, despite the effort I put into steadying my voice.

He nodded his head once, accepting that this was my answer.

I continued, "I spend most of my time trying _not_ to think about it …."

His hands tightened softly, just once, around my wrists, "It's all right, Lillie. I understand."

I shook my head, "I try not to, but I can't let myself forget it, either."

He just looked at me, not sure where I was taking this.

"I've never spoken of it before – not to anyone. But I still …," I closed my eyes. It wasn't the best idea. My mind was beginning to supply a replay. "It's still there, in my dreams."

I opened them but the images were still there, clear as the afternoon sky had been.

"It was my fault – the attack." Edward started to say my name but I shook my head vehemently, "No, it was. We wouldn't have even been there, if it hadn't been for me."

He fell silent, letting me continue.

"There was an … accident, the summer before. I …," the images had switched, like a channel in my brain had been changed. "I lost control and the barn door fell on Ames. He was only six and so _small_," a sob broke through my lips. "Jacques and I … we couldn't get it off of him – it was too heavy. I could hear him crying but …. When they pulled him out, his arm was badly broken – I could see the bone sticking through the skin."

I had to stop, to take a few breaths before I could continue.

"Uncle François couldn't take it anymore. He took me to see …," I fell off, trying to decide what to say. I didn't want to tell him about the priest or the diagnosis. It would be better, if I was a little vague on the specifics. "A professional. He … examined me and told my uncle that he wasn't qualified to treat my …." I couldn't find the right words.

"Your abilities," Edward supplied softly.

I nodded, "Yes. So he recommended a specialist."

"It took months before we could arrange an appointment. What with the harvest and the planting season, we had to wait until the following summer. Only Marie and Ames would speak to me, by then. She … she told me that she didn't blame me for what happened – that she knew I hadn't meant to do it. And Ames," my voice cracked. "He was just too young to understand."

The tears had begun to flow, but I didn't bother wiping them away. There would be many more before I was done.

"That's why we were there. They were taking me to … to my appointment. We'd been on the road all day when we came to a … town." It was more a city, but the description was close enough. "So we took rooms at a local inn. The suite was on the top floor. Being in a strange place, my aunt and uncle chose to sleep in the main room, which left the boys in one bedroom and me in the other."

Again the channel in my head flipped.

"I don't know when they saw us – maybe when we were eating," I began to shake. "We were all asleep, when they came …." An eerie echo of my aunt's terrified shriek sounded in my mind as the scene began to unfold, "I woke up, when the screaming started. At first … it was just her – just once. Then I heard a booming sound, like something breaking loudly … and then the boys …." I cringed as their screams reverberated inside my skull, drawing my arms protectively around my torso.

"I …. Philippe tried to stop them – I heard them struggling. And Ames …," I couldn't breathe. My lungs refused to expand, like something heavy was pressing ruthlessly against my chest. "… he screamed for his mama but …. I was so scared! I couldn't … he _screamed_ for me but I couldn't!"

I lost all control, hunching over as though I'd received a punishing blow to the stomach, gasping for breath and clutching at the aching pain in my chest as I cried. I had been wrong. Remembering this hurt so much worse than I had thought it would. I had lamented the loss of Marie from the very beginning. But it was the boys' deaths I could never forgive myself for – particularly the younger ones, Martin and Ames. They hadn't even been ten years old. I'd cost them their lives before they'd even had a chance to live them.

Edward's hands gripped my shoulders, their temperature leaking through the thin cotton of my blouse, and he pulled me toward him, "Shh, it's all right, love. You don't have to keep going. Shh."

I resisted his draw, shaking my head in refusal. If I stopped now, I wouldn't ever finish. The memories, the guilt hurt too much for me to risk opening myself to it again.

The muscles of my stomach ached by the time I was able to speak again, "I was the last one they came for. They kicked my door in and one of them jumped on me. It was dark and I couldn't see his face …."

My right hand sought out the familiar scar as I spoke, "I think I screamed … but I don't know. All I remember was the pressure … inside my head. It wasn't the first time – I'd felt traces of it when I'd hurt Ames. But it … it was so much _stronger_. And I was so scared."

My thumb began to rub the raised skin, "He was so much stronger than I was. All I could do was kick and squirm and bite at whatever piece of him I could reach. At first, he just laughed – like my struggle was nothing more than _funny_. That didn't last long, though. I guess he got sick of fending off my flailing limbs … because he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the bed.

"I couldn't breathe. I clawed at his hand, trying to get down, trying to breathe. And all the while the pressure in my head just got worse and worse."

I fell silent for a moment, trying _not_ to feel cold fingers tightening around my neck.

"I don't know what I did. One second, my head felt as though it would explode. Then, the next … it was like a wave of … of air just burst out of me – like I was at the center of a tornado.

"It knocked him off his feet and he took me down with him. I heard another loud cracking sound and … and then the roof came down on top of us." A chill ran down my spine as I remembered that horrible sound – like the earth had suddenly split apart.

"I don't remember much after that … except getting this," I raised my wounded wrist a few inches.

Never before had I felt pain. Every single hurt I'd previously experienced in my whole life didn't compare; even combined, they would have been no more than a pin prick in contrast. It had felt as though the fires of Hell had burst to life beneath my skin, charring my body and soul together. The memory was still fresh in my mind, even after so many years.

Old doubts snaked into my thoughts as I sat there, silently staring at the remnants of that first taste of damnation. Whispers of guilt, of regret blew through my mind; reseeding long-familiar territory.

"I could have saved them – my family," I whispered. "If I'd slept in the main room instead, they would have just taken me …."

My face was suddenly being held between Edward's icy hands. He'd sunk to the floor between my knees, his golden eyes staring intently up into mine, "Don't do that, Lillie. Don't torture yourself over what was done to you. You can't know whether that would have stopped them. Vampires like that …."

I interrupted him, "I do – _he_ told me that I was the one they wanted."

"What do you mean 'he told you'? You saw him again?"

Nervously, I ran my tongue over my lips as I tried to decide how much to tell him of my captivity. There was _no way_ I had it in me to relive those memories – not the way I had with the others. I was already teetering on the edge of depression, of insanity. Delving into _that_ would tip me off into that dark, bottomless abyss.

Just the barest of facts, then. I could handle that … if I treated it like it had happened to someone else.

"_He_ … _kept_ me, for a while," his eyes widened in shock but I pressed on. "That's where the other … marks … came from."

"My God," his words were little more than an exhalation of breath. Only my ability to read lips told me what he'd said. The next were loud enough for me to hear, "How did you get away?"

"Luck, mostly. I made a run for it at dawn," I broke eye contact. "I thought … well, the legends said that they couldn't go out in the sun," I let out a rueful huff. "I guess they just didn't want to be seen."

When I'd finished with my tale, I sat there, my face still cupped between stone-cold hands, silent tears trickling down my cheeks, utterly unable to make myself meet his eyes. Fading screams resounded through my mind; ghostly remnants of my past. Ninety-two years later and they were still as clear as the day I heard them.

"I'm sorry," his whispered words barely registered over the phantasmal wailing already filling my ears.

I shook my head – as much as I could with my face cradled between his unmoving hands.

His thumbs spread out, tenderly wiping away the rivulets of tears streaming from my eyes, "I never meant to cause you pain."

Again, I tried to shake my head. My pain wasn't Edward's fault. He'd only asked a question. It had been my decision to answer it.

"Will you allow me to hold you?" His hands slipped away from my face.

When I snuck a peek at him, I could see traces of chagrin lingering beneath the stronger emotions of concern and love on his face. It was relieving. I had been afraid that I would find only pity – something I couldn't have lived with. It was the most degrading and useless of emotions; for it offered neither comfort nor guidance. I never wanted to see that on his face.

Now he knew the truth – what I could tell him of it, anyway. There was no way for him to fix it, to make it better – no one would ever be able to do that. So he offered the only things he could: comfort and acceptance.

Two things I could never refuse. Nodding my head, I allowed him to pull me into his arms, resting my face on his cotton-clad shoulder.

* * *

><p>"What time is it?" My voice was heavy with lethargy and I kept my eyes closed.<p>

We'd been sitting like this for a while; me leaning against his left side, my face resting against his chest, his left arm draped over my shoulders, and our right hands entwined. The red chenille throw Julia typically kept on the back of the couch was wrapped securely around me, another barrier between his chilly skin and mine. It was the first time either of us had spoken since he'd started holding me.

"Nearly nine," his voice was quiet, soothing; as though he didn't wish to disturb the tranquility I'd settled into.

I couldn't resist peeking up at the clock above the mantle, surprised that Julia still hadn't made it home. I was about to comment to that effect, when the sounds of quiet laughter drifted to me through the front door.

My first thought was, _Finally_. It wasn't until I heard footsteps on the front stairs that the fact that I was curled up on the couch with Edward crossed my mind. Neither Julia nor I had ever breached the subject of guests – let alone guests of the opposite gender. As such, I had no idea what her rules were. Automatically, I froze, trying to quickly decide what to do.

Being so close to me, Edward immediately picked up on my body language, "Would you be in trouble, if your aunt saw me here?" His words were whispered into my ear.

"I'm not sure …." I whispered back.

The jangle of keys reached my ears.

"Let's not risk it, then."

One second, I was leaning against him. The next, Edward was gone and I had nothing supporting me. Only my own quick reflexes kept me from collapsing, face first onto the cushions. Frantically, I sat up and scanned the room for him. He wasn't anywhere to be seen but I hadn't heard the garage door open.

"Edward!" My whisper was barely that, more a soft hiss of his name.

The softest of chuckles echoed back to me from somewhere in the house.

_Great!_ I collapsed onto the couch and covered my face with my hands. My aunt and her Chief-of-Police boyfriend were at the front door and I had a teenage-looking male vampire hidden somewhere in my house. Yeah … _this_ was going to end well.

The deadbolt turned and the front door creaked open.

I held my breath.

"Let me see if she's asleep," Julia whispered quietly.

I rolled my eyes. So I wasn't the only one who wanted to keep their company a secret. Laying as I was on the couch with only a single lamp in the far corner of the room lit, it wasn't possible to see me from the front door.

She quietly closed the door and slipped past the couch, her heels clicking lightly on the wooden floor as she passed.

I waited until I heard the telltale sounds of metal brushing against metal before I sat up.

Julia was at my door, one hand on the knob, and the other pressed against the jam, as she slowly worked it open.

Not knowing where my sneaky vanishing vampire was, I didn't think it prudent to have her going into my room.

"Hey," I let the heaviness of exhaustion seep into my voice – it wasn't exactly hard, considering the day I'd had.

"Oh!" Julia jumped a good four inches off the ground, her hand leaping to her throat in surprise as she turned to see my face cresting the back of the couch.

"Sorry," now I felt bad for scaring her.

"No, it's all right. I just thought …," she took in the dimness of the living room. "What are you doing sitting out here in the dark?"

"I was waiting for you to get home," I lied, smoothly. "I guess I just fell asleep."

"Oh," she let out a shaky breath.

We stayed where we were, just looking at one another; me on the couch, her standing by my bedroom door. When the silence had moved beyond awkward into tense, I decided it was time for action.

"So … how was dinner?"

"Good." Her eyes flickered momentarily to the front door. "How was your day?"

"Good." Understatement of the decade.

"That's good. Um, what did you do?" Her hands began fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

"Um, went for a drive and a … hike – I was out for most of it."

"Oh, good." Again, the flash of her eyes toward the door.

I stood up, slowly disentangling myself from the throw blanket, "Okay, well …." I just couldn't keep it up. She was so nervous – like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been. I came around the couch, stopping a few feet away from her, "Are you gonna leave Charlie on the porch?" I casually pointed toward the door.

Her jaw fell open, "How did you …?"

I shrugged, "It wasn't really that hard to figure out." I smiled, trying to lessen the blow.

"Oh, well … I …." Uncomfortable. That was a good description of her body language.

"Um … I can just go to bed and pretend I don't know anything, if it's easier." Why did _I_ feel like the parent in this scenario? Granted I _was_ old enough to be her parent, but still.

Her cheeks turned red, "No … well, maybe."

I smiled sweetly, "Okay. Goodnight. Glad you had a good time with your friend." Careful to open the door as little as possible, I slipped past her into my room.

* * *

><p>I waited until I heard her move away before I sighed in relief, slumping against the door.<p>

"You know," Edward's voice was pitched so that it wouldn't carry. "I never thought that the first time I would experience the chagrin of being a teenager caught doing something they shouldn't be doing would be _long_ after I'd left adolescence behind."

Even though I had known he was somewhere in the house, I hadn't been expecting to hear his voice from what appeared to be an empty room. My heart jumped into my throat and my legs slipped out from beneath me; resulting in a much-undignified slide to the floor.

The desk lamp switched on, casting soft white light around the room and illuminating the pale six-foot-something vampire leaning casually against the wall between the desk and the closet. Amusement danced in his oddly-glowing eyes as he looked at me sprawled on the floor, one hand on my racing heart, the other wrapped around my stomach.

"Forgive me," he moved then, walking slowly over and offering me a hand up. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I cast him a look full of doleful irritation and chagrin before taking his proffered aid, "I should have known you'd just pop out of the woodwork. Can't you ever – I don't know – make noise?" I whispered as softly as I could, knowing he'd be able to hear me regardless.

Without warning, Edward had me pinned up against the wall; one of his hands twined into the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my head back and slightly to one side, while he leisurely dragged the tip of his nose along the exposed skin from the center of my chin to the edge of my jaw.

My head spun as I felt my pulse strive to reach Mach One speeds.

When he reached my ear, he softly nuzzled my hair out of the way, "I _can_ make noise." His breath flickered teasingly against the sensitive skin, "But I was under the impression you didn't want your aunt to know I was here."

My inhalations were … ragged, at best. It took me a long time to force my thoughts into a coherent mass, "Not really helping with the whole _startled_ thing …."

He chuckled and eased his confinement, releasing my head and pulling away to keep his body from pressing me into the drywall, "Better?" There was a definite note of banter in his voice.

"I will be," I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Just as soon as I sit down."

The world did seem better – stiller – once I was settled on top of my comforter. Edward sat close beside me, the look of bemusement still on his face. With my heart vying for first place at the Kentucky Derby, I found his proximity both exhilarating and overwhelming.

Beyond the unexpected nature of his most recent … action, the suddenness and inherent intimacy behind it – not to mention the myriad of innuendos lingering beneath his words – was surprising. Over the last ten days, I had grown accustomed to the unspoken rule of limited physical contact between us. Ever since this afternoon, though, it seemed as though that understanding had been thrown out the window.

It wasn't that I was objectionable to this new closeness. Rather, it was confusing. Up to and even immediately after the kiss we'd shared, he'd been hesitant with me, worried he might inadvertently hurt me. Since then, however, his timidity had seemingly evaporated. I didn't understand why – what had happened to make him so certain of his control.

"Edward?" His fingers had wound themselves back into my hair, this time near the ends.

"Hmm?"

I wasn't exactly sure how to breach this topic. Nevertheless, I _was_ curious, "Did something change?"

He tilted his head to one side as he attempted to read my face, "I'm not sure I follow …."

"Well, it seems like this," I reached over and ran my hand softly down his forearm before twining my fingers with his. "Is easier for you now – easier than this morning, I mean. So, I was wondering why that was."

He smirked in a sardonic sort of way, "It does, does it?" He squeezed my hand gently before his expression turned serious, "I'm just … more determined, now."

I didn't understand, "More determined for what?"

"To make this work – us," he moved both his hands so that they were cradling mine.

It was a long second before I could fill in what wasn't said. He had found being with me harder because he hadn't decided whether he could have a relationship with me at all. Now that he'd discovered that he was stronger than he had thought, he had resolved to make it work.

A shiver ran down my spine as I processed this; understood how close I had been to dying. Had Edward been even a little weaker, I wouldn't have made it home.

"Is it like that for you all the time – with everyone else? Is that why your family doesn't really associate with humans much?"

"Yes and no," his voice was quieter than before and I had to strain to hear it. "It's always difficult being around humans – especially when we've gone for any length of time between hunting trips. Eventually, you get to a point when you can almost ignore it – when the smell of their blood isn't the only thing you can think about. But, with you, it's different."

I looked up into his face but he was keeping it purposefully blank.

"I've never encountered someone like you before," he broke eye contact. "For vampires, pretty much everyone smells the same – slight variants on the same flavor, if you will. Every once in a while, if we live long enough, we come across someone who smells … better – _much_ better.

"None of us really understand what it is about a person that makes them so … appealing – it's not like there have been scientific studies to try to understand it. Carlisle thinks that it must be some specific combination of pheromones, blood type, and other hormones which makes a human irresistible …."

His voice faded off into silence and he shot me a look through the dark cover of his lashes.

_Irresistible_. I didn't need an explanation from him to understand what that meant.

"I'm like that for you, aren't I?" Butterflies fluttered uncomfortably in my empty stomach.

He sighed, "Yes."

Then it was nothing short of a miracle that I was still alive. For a terrifying second, my mind wandered back in time, contemplating whether that first vampire had found me similarly _irresistible._

"Is there any hope, then?" My words were hollow and uttered at barely over a whisper. I couldn't even begin to fathom how much effort, how much determination it must take for him to even be around me – let alone as close as he often was.

His hands came up to cup my face, "Of course there is! Of course I wouldn't …." His sentence fell off abruptly and I couldn't blame him. At least he hadn't lied to me. How long, realistically, could someone be expected to resist something like that?

I forced myself to meet his eyes and smile. Inevitability was something I understood a little about. Even so, I allowed myself to hope.

The TV came on in the living room, making me jump guiltily. My head came up, automatically, despite the immediate reduction in volume. In an effort to focus on something a little more mundane, I set to wondering about Julia and Charlie. It wasn't my place to judge anything she did – not that I was so inclined, in the first place. They were both adults, both legally liable for their own actions.

Maybe it was selfish of me, but I had never stopped to think how much of an impact my coming to live here must have had. From my understanding, Julia had never been married. Even so, she was an attractive woman. More than that, though; Julia was a good person. She deserved as much happiness as she could find in this world.

Until tonight, she hadn't gone on a single date since I'd arrived. It had never crossed my mind that _I _might have been the reason. Just considering the possibility that Julia had put her social life – her hopes and dreams for a future and a family of her own – on hold for me, made my heart ache. Never in a thousand years would I have asked that of her – not in a million.

As I listened to the muted sounds of conversation drifting through the crack beneath my door, I resolved that I would find a way to make it up to her.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward's words broke me out of my newest reverie.

"Um … Julia." I bit my lip as I considered, "I hate to ask … but can you tell if they're … um … waiting for me to fall asleep?" My cheeks heated in embarrassment. This wasn't a topic I was particularly comfortable speaking about period – let alone with Edward.

He was silent for a few seconds.

"They haven't decided," it was clear he was trying to disguise the laughter in his voice.

"Do you think … if I went to take a shower …?" I was sorely tempted to bury my face into one of my pillows, certain his amusement was due to my own discomfort.

He chuckled and swiftly kissed my forehead, "I can't see the future, Lillie – though I can let you use my phone to ask Alice, if you like."

"Alice?" I didn't understand what his sister could tell me that he couldn't – she wasn't even here. Then his meaning sank in, "What?" My exclamation was louder than I'd meant it to be, the single word bouncing around in the dark.

Edward's hand swiftly covered my mouth, cutting off any further questions as the living room fell silent. We sat with baited breath until the TV volume was turned back on.

He raised an eyebrow at me and slowly removed his hand, "You're lucky. Julia almost came in here to check on you."

I swallowed and glanced at the door for a moment. When it was clear we wouldn't be disturbed, I looked back at him.

"Alice can see the future?" This time, I kept my voice acceptably quiet.

He shrugged, totally blasé about it, "Yes."

"And you read minds?" The threads of a thought were slowly beginning to twist together.

He gave me a strange look, "You already know that."

"Are all of you … gifted?" Was that something universal among vampires?

"Not how you're thinking." He didn't elaborate.

I grumbled under my breath before asking for clarification. "What about the rest of your family, then?"

He sighed, "Only three of us are 'gifted', as you put it. As for the rest of my family, they're gifts didn't manifest into actual _abilities_. Rather, they brought something of their strongest human trait with them into their new life. Carlisle surmises that Alice, Jasper, and I must have had some faint traces of our gifts even when we were human – that's why we have them now."

I nodded, "All right. So … Alice can see the future, you can read minds …. What can Jasper do?"

There was a short pause before he answered me, "Jasper is … interesting. I suppose the closest description for his ability would be _empathic_."

"Empathic? Like, sensing the emotions of others?"

"Yes, but there's more to it than that. Jasper not only senses emotions, he can control them – enhance, drain, or even completely change what people are feeling. It's a very subtle gift."

I blinked, a little perplexed by the very _idea _of such abilities being real. Although I had spent large portions of the last ten days with Edward, I had to work to remember that he was telepathic. It wasn't something I had to concern myself with, on a normal basis, since he couldn't read _my_ mind. Even my own abilities were _alien _to me – having never had any measure of conscious control over them. Besides, I'd gone decades at a time between episodes.

It didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that this topic was just something I had to treat as 'fact' – much as I had when accepting the existence of vampires and werewolves in the first place. Some things you just had to _believe_ because, no matter how hard you tried, you would never quite be able to rationalize them.

"Are you all right?" Edward's voice was soft again, calming.

I shook myself, mentally and looked back at him, "Yeah – just … considering."

"Considering what?"

"The ever-expanding list of impossible things that turn out to be not-quite-so-impossible after all."

He let out a wry huff of amusement and shook his head at me, "I believe they call that 'Science'."

It was only the providence of sitting within easy reach of my pillows that kept my hearty laugh from carrying out to Julia and Charlie. When the fit of giggles had ceased, I lowered the pillow from my face to find Edward smiling indulgently at me.

"I thought you might find that humorous," he caressed the side of my face with the back of his hand.

I smiled, "So, what traits did the rest of your family bring with them?"

He shook his head in a rueful way, "You're almost as difficult to distract as a train is to derail."

I shrugged, unapologetic, and waited.

"Let's see," he leaned back, lounging against the remaining pillows and my headboard. "Carlisle has his compassion. Esme has her ability to love passionately. Rosalie … well, let's just call it her tenacity, shall we?" He winked conspiratorially at me, "And Emmett has his strength."

"His strength? Why doesn't that count as a gift?"

"In life, Emmett was very strong – a product of surviving during the Great Depression. And, while he's the strongest member of our family, he's not necessarily the strongest vampire out there. So, in a way, his strength is nothing _new_ to him. Whereas, for Jasper and I – and possibly Alice, as well – _our _abilities didn't fully manifest until after our transformations."

"Why only 'possibly' for Alice? Doesn't she know whether she was precognitive in life?"

He paused for a minute, his face clouding over with neutrality, "Alice is a very _unique_ creature. Even though human memories have faded for the rest of us, we still remember bits and pieces about our lives – mostly things which were exceptionally emotional. With Alice … she doesn't remember _anything_ about being human. She doesn't even know who changed her – she woke completely alone; with no guidance at all save for what her visions could tell her."

"Alone? Didn't Carlisle make all of you?" This had been my impression from the beginning; that the doctor – the family's father figure – had been responsible for bringing them all over.

"No. Jasper and Alice came together to find us a few years ago."

"Where did Jasper come from, then?" Of all the Cullens, Jasper was the one who most reminded me of the vampires I'd met in the past. He wasn't outwardly hostile. There was just something … predatory about the way he looked at people – like he only just kept rein on his baser instincts.

"Jasper came from a very … _different_ kind of family – one who didn't follow the same philosophy as ours. He lived with them for many, many years but it was hard on him – his ability didn't lend itself well to the …_lifestyle_," he shot me a look, trying to gauge my reaction.

I nodded once. His empathy had made hunting humans difficult. I knew just how frightened his victims had been, how much pain accompanied a vampire bite. So did Jasper. If it had been me, I probably couldn't have dealt with it. Starvation would have seemed a more viable option.

"So, eventually, he left them. He wandered alone for a while until he met up with Alice – she'd seen him in her future. Then they came to find us."

For a few minutes, I sat quietly; thinking. Now I knew why Jasper seemed so conflicted. The Cullens' _'vegetarian'_ diet was still relatively new to him. In a way, that fact scared me – it wasn't easy to change a long-standing habit. It also meant that Jasper was, indeed, the most dangerous member of Edward's family. Though, he might also be the most exceptional.

A yawn slipped out as this last thought came to a conclusion and I stretched my tired muscles.

"You're tired," Edward's lips quirked into my favorite crooked smile.

"Yeah, but I should shower – I have been sitting in the grass for most of the day, after all."

"True."

Getting to my feet, I set about gathering my pajamas and toiletries. I opened the door to the bathroom and switched on the light, deposited my things on the counter, and turned the hot water on. Then I returned to my room and looked at Edward lounging on my bed, trying to decide what to do about him.

From the sounds of the television in the living room, I knew Charlie was still here. Overall, I didn't think sneaking Edward out of my bedroom window while there was still the possibility that Charlie could walk home at any minute was the most prudent idea. However, having a boy in my room while I showered and got ready for bed wasn't something I was accustomed to – let alone comfortable with.

I nibbled on my lip as I cast surreptitious looks between my door, Edward, and the window. He hadn't moved since I'd risen from my bed, though his eyes were on me. Another couple of glances and I made up my mind.

I walked over to my desk and flipped off the lamp, leaving the light from the bathroom as the only illumination. Then, I walked purposefully over to the side of the bed and gave Edward a very stern look, "Don't move."

His smirk cranked up a notch, "Yes, ma'am."

I pointed toward the living room, "If they come in here, you can hide. Otherwise, stay right there."

He rolled his eyes, as though in exasperation, but made a show of becoming a statue.

I waited for a second, wanting to emphasize my point before I went back into the bathroom and shut the door. Nervous as I was, I turned the locks on both handles before I stripped out of my clothes and climbed gratefully into the shower.

* * *

><p>The hot water felt <em>amazing<em>. I hadn't realized how tense I was until my muscles began to relax. As I washed the fears and concerns of yesterday away right along with the dirt and tears of today, I couldn't help marveling at the way things had turned out. Considering the propensity of my own personal _luck_ to ruin nearly everything in my life, it was difficult for me to believe. Not only had I survived a day alone with a vampire but I had also, somehow, ended the day with more than I had started with.

When I turned the water off, I couldn't hear the television anymore. In fact, I couldn't hear anything from the world beyond the four walls surrounding me. Julia had gone to bed – whether Charlie had joined her or not was not my concern. Edward, however, was.

Standing there, wrapped in a towel, my hand absently continuing the circular brushing motions I'd begun moments before, I stared at my own steamy reflection and tried to figure out what to do. Unlikely as it might have seemed, this situation wasn't something I had ever experienced before. Up until a handful of days ago, the only men who had been in my room while I slept had been either family or unwelcome – sometimes both. Now that wasn't true. Now there was Edward.

But how did I feel about that?

The first thing to surface was fear, followed swiftly by anger. As much as I loved him, I didn't like that he'd taken it upon himself to invade my privacy. Even so, I could forgive him that; knowing he'd done it out of love – however misguided. So, what else was there?

Embarrassment. It was because of his spying that he'd learned I was keeping things from him. Not to mention my unconscious speaking of his name. But there was something more, something deeper, older.

Propriety. When I was growing up, it would have been nigh unheard of for a respectable young woman to have a prospective suitor in her bedroom – let alone while she was sleeping. I recognized how old fashioned the sentiment was – especially considering modern standards of social conduct – but it was simply the way I was raised. Times may have changed but there were just some things I wasn't ready to let fall by the wayside. With everything that had happened to me, with everything I had had to do to survive, so much of the girl I'd once been was lost. This was one of the few things left. It was the only thing left that I had a chance of doing right.

Even fully dressed as I was in a spaghetti strap tank top and full-length flannel bottoms, I felt oddly vulnerable as I exited the bathroom. Considering that I'd worn less on the beaches in California, it wasn't exactly a rational feeling. My discomfort didn't stem from actual indecency but rather from the knowledge that I was standing in my darkened bedroom, in my pajamas, with Edward reclined on my bed. For a fleeting moment, as I glanced over at him to find his eyes on me, I wished fervently for a dressing gown or a robe.

Not wishing to stand there fidgeting, I crossed the room to my dresser and returned my toiletries bag to the top drawer. When I turned back, Edward was in the same position; only his eyes having moved to follow my progress. Unsure what to say, I dropped my gaze to my feet and began wringing my hands.

"Am I allowed to move, yet?" His voice was soft and oddly enunciated, as though he weren't forming his words correctly.

I looked up, blinking at him in confusion, "Of course. Why wouldn't you be?"

A soft chuckle and his body came to life as he sat up, "You were the one who told me not to move."

I rolled my eyes, letting out a sigh of exasperation as I placed my hands on my hips, "You knew that was conditional."

He shrugged, "You didn't list the conditions." A sly smirk crept over his face.

"_I_ thought you were intuitive enough to understand them without me having to elaborate. I suppose I'll just have to be more specific from now on." I gave him a very skeptical look, letting him know I wasn't at all buying into his 'innocent victim' act.

He was suddenly standing in front of me, "Has anyone ever told you that you're ornery, when you're tired?" His delicious breath wafted into my face as he smirked down at me.

Fighting to keep my mind clear, I met his amused eyes, "As opposed to … when – while I'm sleeping?"

He tossed his head back and laughed exuberantly, somehow managing to do so without making a sound. When he was done, his hands claimed mine, drawing them away from my hips and up to his mouth. He softly kissed the back of each in turn, "You truly are remarkable."

Blushing, I withdrew my hands from his and went to sit on the edge of my bed. Looking for a way to buy time for me to figure out how to ease into the coming topic, I unraveled the towel wrapped securely around my hair and began working my fingers through the damp strands. It wasn't that I was afraid of Edward's reaction to my request – not really. More, I was trying to arrange my wording so as to both make him understand and to cause him the least amount of discomfort.

My hands were gliding unhindered through my drying hair by the time Edward took a seat next to me on the bed. He didn't speak immediately but I could feel his eyes on my face.

"I keep thinking it will get easier – not hearing your thoughts," there was a whimsical quality to his words. "But it just seems to get more and more frustrating," a wry snort.

Glancing up, I couldn't help smirking at his expression – rueful dissatisfaction.

"Patience is a virtue, you know."

He sighed, "Ah, yes – so I've been told. Unfortunately, it is also the one of which I am least possessed."

Try as I might, I wasn't fully able to stifle my snort of agreement. Of all the people I had known, Edward was one of the least patient. Considering his ability, it wasn't exactly shocking. In a broad sense, his gift was very similar to that of his sister, Alice. So long as he chose to listen, he could know everything that was going to happen around him before it actually took place. Generally speaking, it must have been a little like living in a perpetual state of precognition – where foresight was limited to no more than a few minutes ahead of the present. Overall, not really an existence conducive to exercising patience.

"Find that amusing, do you?" He reached over and playfully ruffled my hair, essentially nullifying my detangling efforts.

I laughed softly and moved just beyond his reach.

"You know, you _could_ be kind and put me out of my misery."

I sighed, understanding that it really would be better to get this over with.

"All right," Nervously, my fingers began tracing the stitching on my comforter. "I need to talk to you about this, anyway."

Seeming to understand that the childish banter was at an end, Edward rotated to face me, his body settling into the stillness I'd come to associate with stress.

"I'm listening."

"First, I want you to know that I'm not doing this because I'm angry with you," I glanced up. "Now that I understand why you did it, I've moved past being angry. I'm not saying that you shouldn't have known better or that I'm perfectly okay with you sneaking in here without my knowledge. I'm just trying to tell you that this has nothing to do with you – it's just something that I _need_."

The silken quality of his eyes was fading, the fantastic gold flattening to a lusterless brass as he drowned his emotions into emptiness. It was painful to see – knowing that my words were the sole reason behind his retreat – and I lowered my gaze back to my lap.

"So much about my life – about _me_ – has been ... wrong," I gulped. "I'm not trying to complain – I know how fortunate I've been. Even with as much as I've lost, few people can boast of the kind of _luck_ I've had in finding people to call family. And maybe I wasn't ever meant to have a normal life. Like it or not, I can accept it.

"But there are few decisions I look back on without at least some regret. Between circumstances and my own bad decisions, there aren't a whole lot of rules I've left unbroken. And I've paid for it. There is nothing I wouldn't give to go back and fix some of them – but I don't have that option. The past is just that, the past. The only option I _do _have is whether or not I learn something from it."

Gingerly, I reached over and cupped my left hand over his before meeting his eyes, "So, while it might sound a little _old fashioned_, I need to do this the right way – the way I was raised. I want to get to know you, to know your family, and have you meet mine. It's important to me, following the rules – even if only on this one thing."

Edward's brows drew down in the center for just a moment, when I was finished; his look hovering somewhere between confusion and amazement. In the end, however, he took my hands in his and spoke.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or flabbergasted, honestly," His voice certainly carried hints of both.

"I'm sorry, if I've upset you, but …." My words were cut off, when several of his fingertips covered my mouth.

"I'm not upset, Lillie – a little surprised, truth be told, but not upset," he removed his hand from my face, returning it to clutching mine.

"Surprised?"

A flash of chagrin crossed his features, "Please understand that I'm not intending to imply anything about your moral character. It's just that I wasn't expecting for your relationship philosophy to so closely resemble the one I had been raised with."

"Why not?" Despite his caveat, I was a little miffed.

"Most of my daylight hours are spent surrounded by hormonal adolescents. As I'm sure you can imagine, a vast majority of them _do not_ share your views. Unfortunately, it appears as though I have fallen into the habit of assuming every teenager thinks alike."

My mouth twisted into a minor scowl, "And you know what they say about assumptions, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he frowned. "Back to the point, though. I have no objections to taking things slowly – in fact, I rather prefer it."

I eyed him, having not expected so easy a victory.

He smiled at me and cupped my face in his hands as he touched his forehead to mine, "Lillie, we can take things at whatever pace makes you comfortable. So long as you're happy, I am content."

"Thank you," I shifted, briefly touching the tip of my nose to his.

"Would you like to lay out the ground rules now, or do you need some time to think about it?" He pulled back to look at me.

"I can give some basics."

He sat back, his hands resting on his legs, listening.

"First things first: No More Sleepovers …."

* * *

><p>It took a little while to hammer out the details but, in the end, we reached a mutually beneficial arrangement. Of most importance, Edward agreed not to sneak into my house to watch me sleep anymore. In return, I agreed to give him one of my pillows each night which he would then return to me in the morning – this was the best way we could come up with to keep his desensitization level relatively consistent.<p>

Secondly, we managed to reach an agreement about visitation hours. Edward was allowed to visit me in my room in the evening up until Julia went to bed. Moreover, he wasn't allowed back in the house until after both Julia and I were up in the morning. Even though this was a condition I had been willing to negotiate on in order to get him to agree to the first one, I still felt a little guilty over my concession. While Edward and I wouldn't be doing anything Julia wouldn't want us doing, I nevertheless sensed that she wouldn't much like me having him in my room at all.

Finally, we settled on a time when each of us would introduce the other to our family. It was a little surprising – considering how protective of me Edward was – but this was the condition he was most adamant about; the sooner the better. At first, I worried that he might be subtly attempting to hasten the progression of our relationship. However, when I questioned him about the rush, his explanation assuaged my anxiety.

"I've lived for a very long time, Lillie. In all that time, it never really occurred to me that there was anything missing in my life. For the most part, I was content to have the love of my family and to pursue my hobbies. What diversions I did indulge in, usually came to me – I rarely sought them out.

"That was how I lived – how I thought I was supposed to live. I'm not saying that I didn't believe in love – you can't live with three sets of perfectly paired couples and _not_ believe in love. Only that I didn't believe it was meant to happen for me.

"My experience with it was limited, to say the least. The only gauge I had on which to base my expectations were my families. My parents had been married and, having been a young man with delusions of becoming a soldier, I had never asked them about how they had met. As for my immortal family, I had known Carlisle for only a few short years before he found Esme. With Rosalie, she found Emmett less than two years after Carlisle changed her. And Alice and Jasper were already together, when they came to us. So, even consciously knowing that both Carlisle and Jasper had lived for many, many years before they'd found love, my subconscious had resolved that, if it didn't happen within a very short time of my transformation, it wasn't meant to be."

There must have been something sad in my expression, because he brushed his fingers through my hair and smiled comfortingly.

"And then you came along to shatter my ill-crafted hypotheses. Carlisle suspected it first – though he was careful with his thoughts around me. Then, after I saved your life in the parking lot, Alice and Rosalie knew. Alice's visions of the future had been hazy, indistinct beforehand. When they cleared up afterward, it wasn't hard for her to figure out why. And while Rose may be a lot of things, she's nothing if not intuitive about such matters.

"The rest of us found out that night. No one was more shocked than I was, when Alice and Rosalie broke the news. I'd long ago accepted that love just wasn't in the cards for me. Until then, even Alice's visions hadn't led us to believe otherwise. To be told differently – to _have_ to be told – was … disconcerting.

"I didn't want to believe it – I fought against it, even. But all that effort was for naught – doomed to fail from the very beginning," he leaned forward and kissed my forehead before pulling back.

"I've known for days that I couldn't keep resisting how I felt about you. And, this afternoon, holding you in my arms out there in the sunshine, I gave up trying. Now I know what I've been missing. This is what I want – _you_ are what I want. Why wouldn't I want to tell my family?"

So we agreed on tomorrow. Since Julia had work in the morning, Edward would take me to his house first. Assuming that went off without a hitch, he'd bring me back here and then it would be my turn. What we chose to do afterward depended on two things: Julia's reaction to Edward and _my_ reaction to his family.

* * *

><p>Overall, I had a lot of things to look forward to – and dread – for tomorrow. Despite being both curious and anxious to meet the rest of Edward's family, I was terrified.<p>

Generally speaking, willfully entering a place in which multiple vampires resided defied all standards of self-preservation. It was akin to wandering into a wolves' den after rubbing ground beef all over yourself. Suicidal, to put it bluntly.

A lot of the fear was instinctual, ingrained into my subconscious by past events. There had never been a time in my life, when having that many vampires around me had ended in anything less than bloodshed and tears – all mine. Cynicism urged strongly that there was never any other way for that scenario _to_ end.

It wasn't that I was frightened of the Cullens hurting me – not really. According to Edward, every one of his family members followed the same diet he did – had done so for years. Reason advocated that if Edward was able to resist biting me – even with the added complications we'd discussed – then the others should be able to as well. The only thing was: should was neither could nor would ….

And to top all of that off, I somehow managed to scrounge up enough mental energy to fret over whether Edward's family would approve of me. At worst, the only thing they knew was that I was human. At most, Edward would tell them all what I had told him and then they'd be able to add 'repetitive orphan with abnormal mental condition' to the list. Even if they were sympathetic to the latter qualifiers, I couldn't see them overlooking the former. The bottom line was: Edward was a vampire and I was not.

_And the award for 'Most Pessimistic' goes to…,_ I thought sarcastically. As if I didn't already have enough on my mind. Now I was trying to predict what was on everyone else's.

"Edward," I nibbled my lip for a second as I pulled the covers over my legs.

He had gotten off the bed and was standing beside it, waiting for me to get settled, "Yes?"

"I'm not trying to be all 'dooms-day' or anything but … won't your family find it strange that you're bringing home someone like me?"

"What do you mean, 'someone like you'?" He looked vaguely disapproving.

"I'm not a vampire, Edward."

"I'm well aware of that."

"But you are."

"And?"

How is it that _I_ ended up being the one who sounded speciesist?

"You don't think they'll be a little … disappointed that I'm human?"

He shook his head and leaned over so that our faces were quite close, "Lillie, my family aren't elitists. We weren't born vampires. Every one of us started out as human and there isn't a one of us that wouldn't go back, if we were given the chance.

"Out of seven, Alice and Jasper are the only ones who met after they were both vampires. Esme was human, when Carlisle found her. It was the same for Emmett and Rosalie."

A teasing smile cracked his serious composure, "So, the answer to your question is no – they won't be disappointed that you're human." Quick as a wink, one of the pillows at my back disappeared, "They _might_ be disappointed, however, if you fall asleep during introductions because I kept you up all night talking."

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, like falling asleep in a house full of vampires – friendly or not – was going to happen.

"Fine. Just one more question, then." Reaching out, I playfully grabbed a corner of the pillow he was holding.

He sighed exaggeratedly but the light dancing in his eyes was anything but annoyed.

"Why won't you tell me how old you are?"

It was probably a good thing that I had hold of the pillow. Otherwise, he might simply have crawled out the open window. As it was, his posture became a little more rigid while his eyes scanned me.

"Tell me something," nothing of either anxiety or despair tinged his voice. "Does it matter much?"

"Not to me," I breathed in slowly through my nose. "But I think it matters to you."

An emotion flickered across his face, gone too soon for me to identify it, "Why do you say that?"

Wanting my phrasing to be right, I took a second to think before answering, "Because I don't think it's just some arbitrary number to you. If it were, I don't think you'd work so hard to avoid it. I can't be sure … but I think your age is painful for you to think about."

I fell silent, watching as my words sank home. Though he didn't move, I could almost see the gears turning just behind the metallic shine of his eyes. When, after several long moments, he still hadn't spoken, I couldn't help wondering whether he was going to answer at all.

The seconds ticked by, each one meticulously logged inside my head.

I had just about decided that he wasn't going to answer me; that I was going to have to discover his age through other methods, when the hard line of his mouth cracked and he began to speak.

"Either you've been through far too many psych evaluations or there's something else you're not telling me."

I swallowed, reflexively.

The inner corner of his eyebrow ticked up a few centimeters, "Be that as it may, my reluctance to discuss this with you has been for another reason."

"And that is …?"

With a heavy sigh, he moved away from me. I held on to the pillow for as long as I could, allowing my arm to straighten out before reluctantly releasing it. When he reached the window, he turned and sank down to sit on the sill; laying the pillow flat across his lap and resting his hands on it.

From so far away, my eyes couldn't see through the deep shadows covering him to decipher his expression. Perhaps that was why he had moved there. Or, maybe, he had just wanted to be closer to an exit.

After a short time, he finally answered me, "I was worried that it might upset you."

I leaned forward a little, hopeful for a peek at his face. If I could see him, maybe it would help me understand his hesitation, "Why should it?" It was no good. My eyes just weren't sharp enough to penetrate the darkness.

His shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug, "I don't know. Perception is a strange thing. Having a vague idea that I'm older than I look is a far cry from knowing exactly how _much_ older."

"You're afraid I'll see you differently – that I won't be able to look at you the same once I know." I could understand this worry. In fact, it was one I shared. It was this exact fear that made me keep my past shrouded in ambiguity. The only difference in our plights was cause. Edward was a vampire. As such, he was frozen in time at the same age he'd been when he had been turned. It was natural for him to be so. Me, on the other hand; I wasn't a vampire. Nor was I human. There was no mythical or rational explanation for my monotony. I was simply broken.

He didn't respond.

"Edward," I spoke his name quietly, softly and waited until I could feel him looking at me. "It won't make a difference."

For several long seconds, I could feel his eyes on me. Then, with a heavy sigh, he stood up. My heart sank, when he turned around and put his empty hand on the window frame.

"I want you to promise me something, before I tell you," his voice was resigned, sad. "Just promise that you'll speak with me tomorrow, no matter what."

I opened my mouth to tell him that _of course_ I would speak with him tomorrow, but he just kept going.

"If knowing this changes your mind – if you don't feel the same way in the morning – I can accept that. But I need to hear it from you."

"I promise." And I meant it. Knowing wouldn't make a difference to me. He could be a hundred-thousand years old and it wouldn't change the way I felt about him.

He dipped his head once in acceptance before propping his foot on the windowsill. Turning his face marginally in my direction, he spoke in a clear, clinical tone.

"I was born in 1901. Carlisle found me in the summer of 1918."

Then he was gone, the window clicking quietly closed behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I know this chapter was a little _heavy _but it kind of needed to be. The next few will probably be pretty heavy, too - since she has to learn about the rest of the Cullens (and you _know_ they're gonna ask her questions).

Anyway ... **Please Remember to Review!**

**_I have added a link on my Profile page to an image I used as inspiration, when creating Lillie._**


	16. Chapter 16: Nightshade

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Now that Lillie knows how old Edward is, will something change? Moreover, what will his revelation do to her, emotionally?

Welcome to one of my 'REVEAL TIME' chapters. You will learn a TON about Lillie's past in this, specifically those parts pertaining to her time in Italy.

**WARNING:** There are references to psychological, emotional, and physical abuse in this chapter – nothing explicit, but there are hints of things given.

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16:<strong>

_1901_ ….

The date echoed ominously inside my head, like the ghostly chime of a long-dead clock; forcing out all other thoughts. Those four numbers floated hauntingly before my eyes, lingering just beyond comprehension; like an invisible wall had risen up between me and the information. The question was: why was there a wall in the first place?

On some level, I recognized that Edward was still speaking – though his words sounded far off and much slower than they should have been. There was a name but it wasn't important enough to overshadow the elusive numbers. His last words, however, were.

_Summer of 1918 …._

I froze into complete stillness as those three little words burst through that invisible barrier, shattering it like glass under the blow of a hammer. Understanding poured over me, drowning me beneath a wash of shock and disbelief.

_1901 … 1918 … Summer …._

The words ricocheted around inside my skull as my mind worked at fever-pitch.

No. There had to be some kind of mistake …. It just wasn't _possible_! I had to have misheard him. There was no way it was the same ….

Fervently, I tried to reorganized the numbers, to force them into something other than what they were. When that failed, I rescanned my memory; hoping to hear _anything_ else.

It didn't make a difference. Try as I might, I couldn't make those horrible words disappear.

_1901 … 1918 … Summer …._

"Dear God …," my whispered words rang hollowly in the empty room as the truth finally sank in.

It was true – _all_ of it! But … how could that _be_?

I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, the truth rolling around and around inside my head as I came to grips with it. Even then, it was hard for me to believe. Edward and I had been born in the same year. So, too, had we failed to die in the same summer.

Once the realization set in, I tried to move beyond it. It wasn't as though I were the only person who had been born in the year 1901. Nor could I have been the only one to lose my life in 1918. No. What concerned me was that Edward and I had been born in the same year only to both meet our ends at the hands of vampires in the summer of 1918. Half a world apart.

I had been wrong. Knowing this had changed something ….

* * *

><p>The next thing I was aware of was a soft tapping sound. Confused, I sat up and looked around. For the life of me, I couldn't remember having fallen asleep – though, judging by the rumpled nature of the bedding and the grogginess inside my head, I obviously had. The light streaming through the draperies was definitely the yellowing brightness of early morning sunlight. My next problem came in trying to figure out what had made the noise that had wakened me.<p>

The creaking sound of my door being carefully opened drew my attention. This confused me even more than my slumber time amnesia had. In the more than two months since I'd been here, Julia had entered my room while I was sleeping for only one reason; to rouse me from my night terrors. If truth be told, she rarely came into my room at all – and usually with verbal permission.

I stared stupidly at the doorway, waiting to find out what was so important.

"Lily, are you awake?" Julia's whispered words preceded her head into the room.

"Sorta …." I shook my head absently – an attempt to dislodge the wisps of lingering cobwebs clouding my mind.

Her cheeks reddened ever so slightly as she spotted me; still half-wrapped in the sheets with disheveled bed-head hair and a vaguely unfocused look on my face, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you …."

I blinked and gave myself another mental shake, "No, it's okay. What's up?"

Her blush darkened half a shade and her teeth nibbled on the inner edge of her lower lip before she straightened her spine and spoke, "I'd like to speak to you for a minute."

"Okay," I motioned for her to come in.

This was unusual. Normally, if she wanted me to know something, she left a note. Barring that, she would typically bring it up at dinner – or, occasionally, at breakfast. Since she was breaking routine, I didn't know what to expect. From the lack of anger or disappointment in her tone, I didn't think I was in trouble. So, whatever it was, it had to be important.

Watching her cross the room, I couldn't help but notice how strangely her scrubs contrasted with the color of my walls – pale pink and chocolate brown versus light olive green. It was an odd thing to focus on, but I couldn't help thinking that I didn't own a single item of either color.

I forced the utterly irrelevant train of thought to a stop, when she sank into my desk chair and looked at me.

"I wanted to talk to you about last night," her hands were folded demurely in her lap, one ankle hooked around the other in a very dignified pose.

"Okay …," it took a long moment before my mind could dredge up the events of the previous evening. Considering how much had happened last night, I wasn't able to pinpoint anything specific. All I could rule out were things pertaining to Edward – she wouldn't be so calm, if she had known he was here.

"First, I would like to apologize to you."

I blinked in surprise. Nothing I could remember would require an apology.

"I never intended to put you in that position, and I'm sorry."

Position? What position?

"Having a teenager in the house is a completely new experience for me. There are so many things that I'm not sure how to handle or whether I'm supposed to handle them at all. And maybe I haven't been doing the best job, but I am trying." Her eyes fell to her lap as she spoke.

Just hearing this broke my heart. Scrambling to the edge of the bed, I reached over and covered her hands with mine, "You're doing a great job – don't talk like that." I squeezed her top hand for emphasis.

She looked up, smirking a little, "Thanks, Lils."

I smiled.

"Anyway," she rolled her shoulders and sat up straighter. "I wanted to thank you. You were very mature about the whole thing with Charlie and I really appreciate it."

I nodded, "You're welcome."

"I would also like to introduce the two of you."

My brow furrowed a little in confusion, "But I've met Charlie already."

Julia shook her head a little, "I don't mean as Chief Swan or our neighbor. You know who he is but you haven't really _met_ him."

I couldn't really argue. The only social time I had spent with Charlie I hadn't paid him a lick of attention. In fact, we'd both been otherwise occupied; him with watching the basketball game, me with watching Billy Black.

"All right," I agreed – not that I truly had another option. I could do a meet and greet with Charlie. It wasn't as though I were objectionable to their relationship, after all.

She beamed, "Great! How about I invite him over for dinner tonight?"

The muscles of my stomach performed a mildly impressive feat of acrobatics, "Tonight?" The last syllable was pitched ever so slightly higher than I'd intended it to be. She wanted to bring Charlie over _tonight_? But … but I was supposed to bring Edward home tonight.

"Is something wrong with tonight?" Her face fell a tiny bit.

"No! No. It's just …." What should I tell her? Should I try to reschedule with Edward? Should I see if she'd mind him joining us? "I … um … had some plans for tonight …."

A hint of speculation took root at the corner of her eyes as she watched me squirm, "Oh? What kind of plans?"

"Um …." Why did it suddenly feel like the temperature in the room had spiked several degrees? "I wanted to have a friend over – just to hang out, you know?"

"Oh," she seemed genuinely shocked, though I couldn't blame her. Except for the Port Angeles trip last week, I hadn't shown any interest in socializing with my friends outside of school. "One of the girls?"

"Um, no."

Now the suspicion was back, "Who, then?"

Sighing in resignation, I decided that it would be better to give her warning rather than simply springing Edward on her. He had this _tendency_ to be … overwhelming. "Edward Cullen …," I looked down at my hands; certain I didn't want to see the look on her face. She was silent for so long I began to shift uncomfortably.

"Are you two … dating?" Well, at least she didn't sound angry. Though, there was a quality to her voice that I wasn't familiar with. When I looked up, I finally understood what it was. Hope.

"Sort of – it's still kind of new," I couldn't miss the spark of excitement that flared behind the brown of her eyes. "But he wanted to meet you, formally."

"Oh." That was it. A single noncommittal word, uttered in a tone empty of emotional context.

When an elaboration wasn't immediately provided, I found myself at a loss. Having received neither permission to include Edward in the aforementioned dinnertime activities nor a request to reschedule, left me without a clue as to what I was expected to do. As such, I decided to err on the side of caution. Since my relationship with Edward was newer – both as an occurrence and as news to Julia – it would be more polite for me to offer to postpone my plans in order to accommodate hers.

"I can always reschedule with Edward – it's not a big deal." _I hope …._ With any luck, Edward would understand that I wasn't trying to put him off on purpose.

"What?" Julia blinked once, as though I'd pulled her out of some deep thought, "Oh, no – that's not necessary. He can join us for dinner." She smiled warmly, that _giddy light_ still dancing in her eyes.

"Um … okay," I pasted a smile on my face despite the strange vertigo-inspiring twist of my stomach.

"Great," Julia stood, brushing the miniscule wrinkles out of her scrubs. "Well, I've got to get going. I'll see you tonight."

"See you," I waved weakly. Hopefully, she'd attribute the lack of enthusiasm to my being tired.

When the door clicked closed behind her, I dropped my head into my hands. Great. Now, I just had to break the news to Edward that he'd be joining us for _dinner_ ….

Speaking of food ... I hadn't eaten a single thing yesterday. The leftovers I'd prepared had never made it out of the microwave; forgotten in lieu of more urgent matters. Absently, I wondered what had happened to them. Julia hadn't mentioned anything – not even the pitcher of tea on the counter. Considering how out of character it was for me to leave anything laying about – let alone something like _food_ – it was strange for her not to say something. Maybe, in light of how I'd handled the Charlie incident, she'd simply chosen to overlook it.

Pulling my hair into a high ponytail as I walked, I ventured out into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Not deeming myself conscious enough to risk cooking, I chose, instead, to scope out the ready-made options in the pantry. The easy-to-spot granola bars and bagels didn't hold much interest for me. However, on the bottom shelf, near the back, I found something more promising. An unopened box of Honey Nut Cheerios.

In short order, I had prepped myself a bowl and a glass of orange juice. Digging in with gusto, I luxuriated in the sensation of waning hunger.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the all-consuming desire for food faded; clearing the way for other concerns to surface. Since the moment I'd woken this morning, there had been a stream of things demanding my immediate attention – first Julia, then pending starvation. Sitting here at the table, absently scooting the soggy remnants of breakfast around in the bowl, was the first opportunity I'd had to breathe; to really think straight.

And the one thing on my mind scared me. Irrational as it might have been, it wasn't something that I could simply brush aside. This was just something I would never feel completely safe doing. No amount of assurances or facts or reasoning would ever make a difference. Because, at the end of the day, none of those things could change what had already happened. As much as I may wish it otherwise, these circumstances would forever be tainted by the memories of what came before.

* * *

><p>Everything hurt; from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, there wasn't a single thing I could feel besides pain … and fear. Six weeks ago, my entire existence had been changed. From the outside, how things were now must have seemed a drastic improvement; like I had somehow moved up in the world. But from the inside, it was so much worse; just a deeper level of Hell. And I would have given <em>anything<em> for my life to go back to the way it was; gladly endured the starvation, the isolation, the beatings – all of it. Because standing here, now, I could feel part of myself – a tiny sliver of my soul – being ripped away from me. At least, back then, it had only been my body they were hurting.

Fingertips, frigid as the touch of death, brushed the exposed skin of my back, just above my shoulder blade. Silent as a viper, _he_'d slunk up behind me – a subtle reminder of just how powerless I was, in comparison.

Not expecting the arctic contact, I gasped. It was a mistake – tightly bound as I was, my ribs groaned in protest when my lungs attempted to expand past where they were able. As a result, a low moan of pain slipped past my tightly clamped lips.

"Now, now, _Pet_," _His _voice whispered from an inch away from my ear as _his_ hand continued to trace a line from my back to my chest. "Is that any way to greet your Master?"

Working carefully to regain my ability to breathe, I stood perfectly still. This was another of _his_ tests – like so many before it. My _role_ was that of an obedient, submissive _pet_ – something to look at and show off. Unless express permission were granted, I was not to speak.

_His_ fingertips stopped at the lowest point on my collarbone, "Very good. Now, let me look at you."

Slowly, I rotated; dropping into the elaborately deep curtsey of which I had been trained and holding it, my eyes dutifully lowered to the floor. This time, when my ribs creaked painfully beneath the ruthless bindings and boning of my corset, I managed to suppress my groan of agony. Dipped so low, the confinement of my chest cavity was drastically increased; forcing me to take shorter, shallower breaths than before, and I began to feel the looming possibility of fainting.

_He_ left me there long enough for my legs to start shaking from exertion. Even then, it was several minutes before I was given permission to rise.

"Beautiful, _Velata-Una_ – like a flower," clapping once for emphasis.

With my gaze firmly planted on the floor, I couldn't see anything but _his_ booted feet and the trailing edge of deep black robes; but I knew _he_ hadn't meant the last as a compliment. Every single detail of my current ensemble had been carefully selected by _him_; as much meant to impress onlookers with the lavishness of _his 'Pet'_ as it was to remind me of my place – not that the latter was really necessary. From the soles of my high-heeled satin slippers to the topmost mahogany curl in my elaborately styled hair, I looked every inch a dignified turn-of-the-century noblewoman – and felt every inch the slave. For all the good the layers and layers of fabric draped over my body did, I may as well have been naked.

From somewhere beyond the heavy velvet curtains behind me, I could hear the mumbled conversations of the _others_ – the ones I was being presented to. Dread took hold of me, causing my heart to race and my breathing to speed.

"Why so nervous, little-one?" _He_ stepped closer to me, using _his_ hand to lift my chin upwards.

Understanding, again, that I had been granted leave neither to speak nor to raise my eyes to _him_, I did neither. When I could no longer see the floor, I turned my eyes aside; focusing across _his_ shoulder rather than at a spot on _his_ chest. In the dim candlelight, I could make out my reflection in the glass of a nearby window; catch the sheen off the deep violet satin of my dress. But seeing myself, hauntingly pale against the deep shades of my hair and clothes, didn't make me feel any better. Those parts of me faded into obscurity against the night-darkened window; leaving only my face and upper chest floating there, like some soulless specter.

"Look at me," _he _whispered.

I did as I was told, smothering the cringe of fear I always felt at seeing _him_.

_He_ stared at me for a long moment before speaking again; those demonic eyes drifting leisurely over my face.

"I have a _gift_ for you."

My stomach clenched. Those words were not comforting. The last _'gift'_ I had received had been this damned dress. Before that, it had been _lessons_ in how to play the piano forte in my chambers. _His '__gifts'_ were never meant for me. They were always something _he_ used to make me do what _he_ wanted me to do.

"A beautiful new necklace to go with your gown," smiling in a benevolent sort of way, _he_ reached into the folds of _his_ midnight robe.

Tears stung at my eyes as the item was revealed – tears that had _nothing_ do with how much it resembled a collar. About an inch in diameter, the silver had been worked to look like the branches of Nightshade; midnight purple amethysts made up the petals of the flowers, the berries, and occasional leaves. In a way, this was the most demeaning item _he_ could have given me – and not simply because there was a single large loop that dangled from the center of it. But because of what the necklace represented and because of what hung from that loop.

When I had been taken from my dungeon cell to my new quarters, many things had changed. This necklace was a symbol of the worst of those things. Seeking to enforce _his_ control over every aspect of my life, I had been informed that my name was no longer my name. Instead, from that point on, I would answer to whatever name _he_ chose. And there were a few.

In the beginning, I had simply been _Pet_. After a while, 'Veiled-One' – Velata-Una – came along. That was usually used, when _he_ was feeling moderately complementary or when my mental silence was being alluded to.

The last, however, was still relatively new. The reasons behind its selection were numerous, subtle, and cruel. Overall, though, _he_ had chosen it as a mockery of the name I'd been forced to abandon. While both were types of flowers – the new one actually being a specific breed of the old – one was used to represent celebration and the other loneliness. It was a subtly goading way of illustrating the stark contrast between my life before and after capture. Apart from that, my new namesake was toxic – used far and wide in poisons. Finally, the name was a joining of two Italian words; their translation utterly ironic, considering the nature of the plant ….

Now, _he_ was just rubbing it in – salting the wound. Because, dangling from the bottom of that single silver loop was something I had never again thought to see – a relic from my past I had believed lost forever. The arms of the cross had been polished to a high shine, catching the light in such a way as to make the milky white stone in the center burst with color.

My aunt's cross pendant. The one she'd given me when we'd set out on our doomed trip to Rome. When I had woken in the dark, wet cell that had been my first prison here, I had been stripped of everything; clothes, shoes, even the cross. Since then, I had long assumed it had been discarded along with the rest of my belongings. But to find out, after all this _time_, that _he_ had had it …. It made me sick.

Still smiling, _he_ slipped the necklace on me; just high enough for the bottom edge of the cross to rest in the hollow of my throat. When the black velvet laces were tied, _he_ pulled back to look at me.

"Ah, yes. Molto bene! Tale una bella collana per una bella donna," the smirk on _his_ face said it all – this was only the beginning.

The damned thing felt like a noose around my throat; just waiting for the fall.

"Come."

Careful to keep my eyes aimed down, I followed _him_ through the opening in the curtains.

For as large as it was, the room was mostly empty. Moonlight streamed through the oculus of the dome over our heads, casting eerie shadows over the ghostly creatures standing about and bringing the veining of the surrounding marble to life. Three large throne-like chairs were arrayed across the raised dais we stood on; two already filled. To the right sat a … _man_ whose long hair was streaked with threads of gray. To the left, curled lazily into the seat as though bored, sat a creature I was all too familiar with. The pale-haired young one who had been the catalyst for my last level of Hell. Even without looking at his face, I could feel the disapproval, the hate.

Following along like a dog on a leash, I took up residence behind _his_ chair, just to the right side. From my position, I could count thirteen _others_ in the room with us. What whispers there had been prior to our arrival had fallen off, replaced by the terrifying silence that only _their kind_ could enact.

My heartbeat and breathing were the only sounds to be heard, drawing the hungry gazes of everything in the room save _him_. For several frightening seconds, I was consumed by one thought: I had never heard silence quite so loud. This was the most uncomfortable moment of my entire life; standing stark still on a stage with the rapt, undivided attention of so many monsters.

Then, _he_ began to speak and all eyes left me.

For what seemed an eternity, I stood there, temporarily forgotten. _They_ spoke of _'business'_ and _'matters'_ in veiled, indirect ways; never saying enough for me to understand. But that wasn't why I was here, after all. My _role _was to stand there and wait until _he_ was ready for me.

My nerves were in tatters by the time _they_ finished; by the time _he_ was ready. A single snap of _his_ long, stony fingers accompanied the one word I would forever hate the most – _that name._

Belladonna – _Bella _for short.

* * *

><p>The sporadic <em>tink, tink, tink<em> of metal knocking against ceramic pulled me out of my waking nightmare. My fingers and knuckles were ghostly white against the burnished silver finish of the spoon I was gripping for dear life; the strain of doing so causing my already trembling hand to jerk erratically, occasionally colliding the utensil with the side of the bowl. And I wasn't the only one shaking. Even the table and chair were faintly wobbling with the strength of my nervous shudders.

"_It's the same thing …,"_ a dark voice whispered from the deepest recesses of my subconscious. _"It's _always _the same. He's just another vampire parading you around like property …."_

"NO!" With more force than I'd intended, I shoved away from the table, flinging the spoon back into the bowl. The six-foot solid oak table slid several feet across the linoleum floor before slamming solidly into a wall, milk and orange juice sloshing over its polished surface. The chair I had been seated in skidded loudly beneath me; toppling over backward with a loud _thwack_, when I stood.

I lifted my hands to my head, firmly covering my ears as though to shut out the unwelcome words. It didn't work, of course. The voice was coming from inside my head. And it just kept going. Squeezing my skull tighter, I tried to force it away – back into whatever locked drawer it had slipped out of; arguing with it the whole time.

No. This time was _nothing_ like before. Back then, I hadn't had a _choice_ about meeting the _others_. Free will was not a luxury granted to slaves. Every single aspect of my entire existence had been dependent upon _his_ will – the monster whose ownership of me was claimed as much by the fancy clothes on my body as by the silverwork chocker tied around my throat or the bite marks on my shoulder. Welfare – physical, emotional, mental – had been dependent upon one thing and one thing alone: absolute unwavering obedience. Anything less and I risked something worse even than death – _his_ imagination.

Crammed into the deepest, darkest, most remote corner of my mind lurked the worst of my memories from my time in Italy; locked away behind a shadowy wall held in place by the sheer force of my will alone. For forty years, the most terrible, unthinkable things I had endured – anything that had been too much for me to handle – had been systematically shoved into that hole; forced into shadow and obscurity by a visceral need to survive. Without it, I would have long ago descended into madness. But the weight, the pressure of so many atrocities was not something easily contained. Every waking instant of every day, I had to work to maintain that wall. If, for one moment, I failed to do so, then it would fall and horror and insanity would be all I would ever again know ….

Now, with related recollections so active, I could _feel_ the insistent weight of those imprisoned memories against my defenses – like the waters of the ocean beating against the walls of a levy; stronger than they'd been for years. Gritting my teeth, I focused on holding them at bay.

No. It wasn't the same. Meeting the Cullens was my choice – _my choice_! Today would be _nothing_ like the last time. I wasn't being put on display; incentive to both behave and impress. This time, a man I loved – _the _man I loved – was presenting me to his family. No one was going to hurt me. Edward wouldn't allow it.

The thought carrying his name was accompanied by an image – the look on his face when he told me how much I meant to him. Suddenly, that surge of force from behind the wall ebbed – as though intimidated by the strength of that single memory.

Shock was the first thing that registered, once the pressure was gone. Then, after a few heartbeats, inspiration struck. It wasn't something I had ever considered before – using other memories in such a way. Possibly, that was because there weren't many which could be considered sufficiently pleasant. But, with the reaction I'd just experienced, it was worth a shot.

Standing completely still – eyes closed, teeth clenched, and hands still cupped over my ears – I began to work. Gathering my memories of Edward, I carefully weaved them together; using them as a source of strength from which I could draw to maintain that crucial barricade.

When I was finished, the results were remarkable. For the first time since … _ever_, it didn't feel like the wall was in immediate danger of crumbling down. It was by no means impenetrable or self-sustaining but there _was_ a notable difference in the amount of effort I had to exert to keep it in place.

Excitement thrilled through me as I considered the possibilities of this new discovery. Maybe, one day, I would find myself free – no longer needing to think about holding the wall up. What then? Would the memories behind it fade away?

My hands slipped away from my ears, sliding down the side of my face before coming to rest with my fingers absently covering my lips. Eyes open, staring unseeingly at the kitchen before me, I tried to think.

How many more memories would that take? Weeks worth? Months? Years? Did it matter? It was something to aim for; a goal of sorts. Every moment I spent with Edward was another bolster to my defenses, another step toward peace. An easy one because it required nothing more from me than that which I already desperately wanted.

As if I needed yet _another_ reason to depend upon him. Already, Edward was protector, friend, and lover. Now, the ante had been upped. With the difference a handful of memories of him had made in my fight for sanity, he had stepped into a new role – one which was crucial to my very survival. Savior.

All I had to do was stay … and meet his family.

The yo-yoing emotional rollercoaster I'd woken up on took another turn, twisting my excitement into anxiety; the resident butterflies in my stomach beginning to flutter at the merest thought of the rest of the Cullens. There was no question that I found being introduced to a coven of vampires unnerving – terrifying, really – but, at the moment, those fears were still overshadowed by hope. No, the anti-gravitational sensation in my abdomen was due to something far more mundane – natural, even. I was worried that they wouldn't approve of me.

It was no secret that the rest of Edward's family were … _perplexed_ by his interest in me – it was likely one of the few things we agreed upon. However, after the glare I'd received from Rosalie in the cafeteria on Friday, it became clear that confusion wasn't the only emotion lingering there. Were the rest of the family likewise disapproving, angry?

According to him, my being human wasn't exactly the problem. But what if that wasn't completely true? What if the problem was that I was _still_ human? I'd gotten the impression that neither Esme nor Emmett had remained that way long after meeting their partners. Was that what they were waiting for – Edward to change me?

Shivering convulsively, I could almost _feel_ the faint lash of fire ghost across my skin.

If that was the case, they were going to be sadly disappointed.

New as our relationship was, neither Edward nor I had breached the topic of what the future held for us. With my past being what it was, I doubted he felt it was a subject I would respond well to. He didn't know everything but perhaps, in his own way, some part of him sensed the truth. I _couldn't_ be changed. Even if I were somehow amenable, it just wasn't possible. Dozens of vampires had tried over the years. And here I was, still not a vampire. Something about me rejected the transformation – had from the very beginning.

Another chill coursed up my spine and my hands clenched over my arms, involuntarily. When it passed, I decided that I'd had enough. Nervous or not, I had agreed to go and I wasn't going to back out now. So, what I needed was a distraction.

Glancing around the kitchen, I finally _saw_ the mess I'd made. The box of cereal had toppled to the floor, cheerios fanned out across the linoleum. Moreover, the milk and juice had spread out and was now leaking off the edge of the table.

Cleaning. As good a distraction as anything else. Just in case, I ventured out into the living room and switched the television on; scanning through the satellite channels until I found the music, I selected a classical station and turned the volume way up.

* * *

><p>The soothing sounds of long-familiar tunes helped to chase away my worries. Slowly, my tension gave way to the rhythmic ebb and flow of the music; the fluidity of the notes working its way into my motions. For the first time in <em>months<em> I surrendered myself to the melodies, feeling the unique thrill of release that accompanied it.

Draining my mind of thought, I made room for something more important; the story and emotions of the composition. Like riding a bike, the steps drifted back to me as I twirled and slid across the floor. It mattered not whether the moves were simple or complex, I made no conscious decisions. Everything was automatic, intuitive, free.

When the song drifted to its close, I took a steadying breath before opening my eyes; dispelling the consuming trance of the harmony. In the intermittent silence between tracks, I glanced around. That's when I realized that I wasn't alone.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted someone standing just beyond the archway between the living room and kitchen. Having not expected to see anyone in my house, I jumped in shock and let out a startled yelp. Spinning to face the intruder fully, it took me a few heartbeats before I recognized him.

Edward.

"Iesu Christe!" I grumbled as I placed a hand over my racing heart, "What are you doing there? You scared the life out of me!"

His face was purposefully blank but it was impossible to miss the faint tightening around his eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude but I didn't think you'd be able to hear me knock over the music."

"It's not _that_ loud," again grumbling. Even so, I walked past him to turn it off before the next song started.

"I can leave, if you'd like," his voice was steady, monotone and he wouldn't meet my eyes, when I turned to look at him.

Taken aback I just blinked and examined him for a moment. When his lack of expression or vocal inflection failed to give me a clue as to what he was thinking, I had to ask. "Why would I want you to leave?"

Finally, his eyes rose to mine. There was a flatness to them that I recognized; he was attempting to disguise being upset, "You aren't dressed."

Glancing down at myself, I took a brief clothing inventory. Shirt? Check. Pants? Check. Raising a questioning eyebrow, I met his brassy gaze. "I'm as dressed as I was when you left last night."

He didn't speak.

Not really wanting to play 'Read the Mind-Reader's Mind' I closed my eyes and brought my left hand up to gently pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Taking a deep breath, I asked for clarification, "What does my being in my pajamas have to do with wanting you to leave, Edward?"

The room was silent for a protracted moment before he spoke, "You don't seem very pleased to see me. So, unless it is your intention to arrive at my house in your night clothes, I take it that you've had a change of heart." I could almost _hear_ the effort he was putting into keeping his voice level, unemotional.

Shock flooded my system as my eyes popped open and my hand fell away. Wow. Either I was in a _much_ worse mood than I'd thought or he really was as pessimistic as I was. I stood there, dumbfounded; mouth slightly ajar and a blank look on my face.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another under my scrutiny, "If that's the case, you can tell me, Lillie. You needn't be worried about my being angry with you."

My mouth worked silently for a moment as I tried to find the right words, "You … _really_ don't get it, do you?"

No answer, he simply stood there.

Slowly, I crossed the distance between us and stood toe to toe with him; looking solidly up into his eyes, "Now, you listen to me, Edward Cullen."

His eyebrows ticked up a few centimeters.

"I don't know what kind of person you think I am," I jabbed a finger at him, careful not to hurt myself in the process. "But let me tell you something. I may be a _lot_ of things but I am _not_ fickle. I _don't_ make decisions lightly and I _don't_ toy with people!"

He actually took a half step back, when the tip of my finger collided with his chest.

Arching up on tip-toes, I got into his face as much as I could. Finding that I didn't much appreciate having him assume I was immature and shallow enough to be unable to see past what he'd told me, my temper was beginning to seep around the edges of my control. Considering everything that I had risked to be with him, I felt he owed me a little more faith.

"I love you," I let the words hang in the air for a split-second before continuing. "And I am _not_ going to let something as _insignificant_ as your _age_ change that. Now, if you can't handle that …."

I was working up to a spectacularly impressive ending, but I never got there. In less time than it took to draw breath, he'd grabbed my assaulting hand and wrapped it around behind my back with one arm before twining his other hand securely into the hair at the nape of my neck and cutting off my sentence with his mouth.

As they had the first time, my lips burst into fire beneath the cool, solid pressure of his. With my mouth parted in intended speech, I could taste the delicious aroma of him on my tongue and everything else faded away into unimportance; my eyes sliding shut. Restrained from movement by his hold on my arm and head, my body was unable to react as it had the previous time – though the same passionate urge to cling to him was there. Mindlessly, I surrendered control to him, losing myself in the burning chill of his embrace.

When he pulled away, my mind was swimming in the haziness of mingled desire and sensory overload. The painless concentrated tingle of electric charge hummed through me, leaving my lips feeling pleasantly scorched. For long moments, the only thing I could concentrate on was the swooshing, thudding cadence of my pulse echoing in my ears; the sound resonating rhythmically with the fiery zing coursing over my skin. Then, over the pulsating drumming, another sound made itself heard – a soft, breathy chuckle.

Drowsily, I blinked open my eyes. It took several more flutters before I could focus on Edward's face and yet more until my mind was able to process the look of amusement riding there.

"You were saying?" Like yesterday, his voice had taken on a vaguely _husky_ quality.

"I …," I attempted to force my mind back onto whatever path it had been following before Edward had interrupted me, but I honestly couldn't seem to find it. "… don't remember …."

His face split into a spectacular smile, "I'll take that as a compliment, then." He released my arm but left his wrapped around my waist.

"You _would_," the response was almost automatic and the faint trace of irritation it carried helped to focus my memory. Something about age … and second thoughts ….

He laughed loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls around us like a chorus of tenor bells. When his golden eyes returned to mine, the mirthful light dancing in their depths was akin to candlelight, "What am I going to do with you?" The hand cradling the back of my neck slid around front, trailing a string of fire and ice across my skin before coming to rest beneath my chin.

A reflexive shiver ran through me and, suddenly, I remembered what I had been talking about previously.

"How about trying to have a little more faith in me," there was a distinctly _sour_ tone to my answer.

Obviously, the question had been meant to be rhetorical and my irritated answer was unexpected, because his brows drew down slightly in the center – a clear sign of confusion.

"I do have faith in you," his words were slow, careful. "I wouldn't have told you about me – about my family – if I didn't."

"You _trust_ me," Lifting my chin from his grip, I shook my head. "That's not the same thing."

"Yes, it is." The smallest hint of exasperation entered his tone.

Using my now-free hands, I pushed against his chest, letting him know I wanted out of his embrace. He acquiesced without protest, though there was a trace of reluctance in his movements. Stepping back to lean against the couch, I looked up at him.

"No," my expression was serious. "They aren't the same. _Trust_ can be rationalized. _Faith_ can't."

He just looked at me.

"You _trust_ me with your secrets because I've proven, time and again, that I'm worthy of that trust. But, when it comes to knowing myself – knowing what I want or how I feel," I gave him a significant look as I crossed my arms over my chest. "You don't have any _faith_ in me. You've accused me of not being able to see myself very clearly – and maybe that's true. But I don't think _you_ see me that clearly, either.

"When you look at me, you see a teenage girl – a broken, wounded, frightened girl who has never been in love before and, therefore, can't possibly know what it is she wants. You're always so surprised, when I don't act exactly like everyone else would. I can't help thinking that you forget how much I've actually seen – how much I've been through. That, even with everything you know about me, you can't see past how young I look."

Still he didn't speak.

"I'm not blaming you," I stepped forward and took his hand in both of mine. "This isn't something you're familiar with, and I understand that. However, considering how well I've taken everything else, I would really appreciate it, if you could try to have a little _faith_ in me. When I tell you something isn't going to matter, take me at my word."

I squeezed a little, letting a playful smile spread across my face, "I have absolutely no problem telling you, when I've changed my mind – _believe _me. But, until I do, it will save us both a lot of trouble, if you would just try to give me the benefit of the doubt."

The room fell silent as he considered my words, the hollow flatness of his eyes yielding no hint of their effect. After a few terse moments, his body relaxed and he nodded once.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So, what'd you think? I just _HAD_ to (with the flashback, that is). I hope Lillie's attitude and personality are starting to make a lot more sense, now that you have a fairly rough accounting of her time in Italy.

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>_

Molto bene! Tale una bella collana per una bella donna - Very good! Such a beautiful necklace for a beautiful woman.

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoyed and <strong><span>Please Remember to REVIEW<span>**. It helps motivate me to keep chugging along on new chapters.


	17. Chapter 17: The Cullens

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

I'm posting this a LITTLE early because I'm off the the beach for the 4th of July and I won't be around to do so this weekend.

And, with this chapter, we have reached 400 pages (yeah, I know, I'm kinda surprised I've carried it on so long, too ;P). Unfortunately, you all have finally caught up with me, so the next update will be a little while (not too long, but it will take me AT LEAST a couple weeks to write it and get it Beta'd - sorry). I promise to continue to work diligently on it. And, Remember, the more Reviews I get, the more driven I am to write ;)

_Chapter Summary:_ With a few more things out in the open, there's still some stuff left unsaid between Lillie and Edward as they head off to his house. Fragile as she is, can she handle the stress of meeting so many vampires at once? More importantly, how are _they_ going to react to meeting her?

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!****  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17:<strong>

"Edward," We were outside now, heading for the shiny silver car parked in the driveway.

Sensing that my criticism might have been a little on the harsh side, I'd excused myself shortly thereafter to get dressed. We hadn't spoken much since – just a few words here and there – and our silence was nerve-wracking. I'd done fairly well at keeping my darker thoughts at bay since the … episode this morning. But now, with the charcoal interior of his car staring me in the face, I was having a few unwelcome remissions. The instinctual fear was creeping back into my mind, kindling the fire of uncertainty.

Ironically, considering the careful manner in which he'd tended me after the accident, the member of Edward's family who most intimidated me was Dr. Cullen – Carlisle. My reticence in regards to him wasn't necessarily _fear_ – I wasn't really concerned with him hurting me or losing control. Rather, my apprehension stemmed from his position within the coven. As a leader, the actions of his … family were guided by him. His opinions – his orders – were weighed heavier than that of any other member. _That_ was what made me nervous.

_He_ had also been a leader in _his_ coven – _the_ leader, even if the fair-haired one or the quiet one sat in thrones beside _him_. It was from _him_ that the _others_ took their orders, and to _him_ that they reported. So it was, with my capture. Though two _others_ had actually performed the deed, it had been at _his_ behest. In fact, everything that I had endured in Italy had been at _his_ command; done for _his_ amusement or to sate the limitless bounds of _his _sadistic curiosity.

Overall, the long and the short of it came down to one thing: I knew almost nothing about Carlisle. All I had with which to contradict my standing impression of the _character_ of vampire leaders was the fact that he'd chosen to survive on the blood of animals rather than that of humans. While it spoke volumes, in and of itself, I didn't understand his motivations – and not simply with regards to his dietary selection.

According to what I'd been told by Edward, he had been the first in Carlisle's current coven. But what had facilitated that selection? Why choose an underage boy? Furthermore, how had Carlisle acquired him and what of his family? Had they ended up like mine or did they simply wake one morning to find their son missing?

Understanding that the racing tempo of my pulse would serve only to draw the attention of the coven I was heading to meet, I figured that having the answers to these questions – whether favorable or not – would help to alleviate some of my anxiety. At least I would know what I was getting myself into.

Standing there, holding the passenger side door open for me, Edward had a strange look on his face – like he was concentrating quite hard. When his name left my lips, quiet and hesitant, he met my eyes, "Yes?"

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Holding his gaze, I slid into the proffered seat.

"Not at all," as soon as I was clear, he pushed the door closed. Within seconds he was beside me, sliding the key smoothly into the ignition.

Deciding that this conversation would be best finished before we reached his house, I slipped my hand over his before he could turn the engine over, "Wait."

Obligingly, he did so; though the look in his eyes weighed heavily of concern, "Is something the matter? Your heart is racing."

"No, nothing's wrong," I looked down at the blank face of the stereo. "I just wanted to ask you about something you said last night," I paused, waiting for his reaction.

I felt his eyes rake over my face, "All right."

Orienting my question into something a little less blunt, I spoke without looking at him, "Before you left, you said that Carlisle found you in the summer of 1918?" I risked a quick peek at him from beneath the cover of my lashes.

There was a marked tenseness in the muscles surrounding his eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before. Nevertheless, he answered me, "Yes."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

I heard him stop breathing.

Now, the only sounds in the cab came from me; the swooshing hiss of breathing through my nose, the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of my heart in my chest, and the sloshing wetness of swallowing. For several long seconds, I waited for him to answer. When, after ten slow, deep breaths he hadn't, I began to believe he wasn't going to. I'd phrased my question very carefully; purposefully giving him the option to not answer. However, if he didn't, then the questions were going to become far more pointed.

With him so still, my automatic response was to become likewise. My own breathing slowed further, taking on deeply extended pauses between exhalations and inhalations, and my heartbeat ebbed to a dangerously low pace. The tips of my fingers started to go numb as their blood flow dawdled. Only my stomach seemed immune to the simulated hibernation, continuously roiling the knot of tension inside into a solid globe of ice.

With a whooshing sigh, Edward's facial muscles loosened, "I suppose it is only fair." Casting me a weary look he spoke carefully, "As you can imagine, it's not a _pleasant_ topic, so I will be succinct."

Somehow, I managed a nod. Though his head had relaxed, the rest of him was still the immovable carving of a statue. As such, my own reactionary stillness was unbroken.

"I was born and raised in Chicago. From the time I was in my early teens, The Great War raged across the face of Europe. And, like most boys my age, I was consumed with the dreams of soldier-hood and glory that the recruiters were spouting. My mother was adamantly against my joining – she used to pray every single night, at dinner, for 'that awful war' to stop."

He shook his head, almost absently.

"In the end, it wasn't necessary. The War ended before I could turn eighteen. Even so, I didn't live to see the end of it. That June – a few weeks shy of my seventeenth birthday – the epidemic hit."

He cast me a weary look.

I felt my brows turn down at the center, as I tried to pinpoint which 'epidemic' he was talking about.

"I wasn't a sickly boy – quite the opposite, in fact. I rarely came down with as little as a cold. But that also meant I wasn't as careful as I should have been. Almost every household in the neighborhood had been hit, but that didn't stop me visiting with my friends.

"Within a few days of my birthday, I began feeling ill. My mother fell sick shortly after and then my father. It wasn't long before we were admitted to a local hospital.

"And that's where Carlisle found me – seventeen years old and dying of the Spanish Influenza."

My breath caught, an unintentional response. I had no previous experience with the disease – by the time it had begun raging across the planet, I'd been securely locked in a cell in Italy; unaffectable. Even so, I'd studied history. From what I had learned, it had not been a … _pleasant_ way to die. Looking up at him, I couldn't help the look of pained sorrow that pulled down the corners of my mouth.

A hint of a commiserative smile touched his mouth and eyes, "I don't really remember it much – most of those memories have faded. Almost everything I have I've learned from Carlisle; his memories or what he's told me."

I fell quiet as I tried to imagine what Edward's last days must have been like; sequestered away in a sick ward with the dead and dying while his body was ravaged by the disease.

"Have I frightened you?" His quiet words hung in the air, slicing through the silence like a light cut through shadows.

I hadn't realized how long I'd been sitting there, quietly thinking, and I blinked in surprise when his words pulled me off of my morose mental pathway.

"No." He hadn't. I wasn't even sure 'frightened' was the correct description for my current feelings. I was sad, sure. Perhaps a little apprehensive over both the similarities and differences between our stories, but not frightened. I was definitely perplexed by the fact that we'd both been where we were because of illnesses – his biological, mine … supernatural.

It was several moments before I could find my voice again.

"What about the rest of your family?" For the briefest of moments, I heard the phantasmal screams of my own echoing in my head. I couldn't help the hollow, cold feeling that radiated through me as I pictured the golden-haired doctor.

"My parents had already died of the disease and I had no siblings. I was alone."

The words didn't process right away; somehow, managing to momentarily blend with the ghostly shrieks in my head. When, at last, they did, I sighed in relief. Well, at least Carlisle had that much mercy.

"That was why he chose me," Edward continued. "In all the chaos of the outbreak, no one would ever realize I was gone."

Ah, well that explained why he'd chosen Edward rather than someone else – opportunity. But _what_ had made him do it in the first place?

"Why did he do it?"

"Loneliness – that's usually the reason behind the choice."

This answer confused me. Of the vampires I had actually come into contact with, a vast majority had been members of covens. Surely Carlisle must have come from something similar ….

"I was the first in Carlisle's family, though he found Esme soon after."

"Found her?"

"She fell from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue – though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

I flinched at the mental image but continued, "What of Emmett and Rosalie?"

"Their story is very similar. Rosalie came across Emmett, while she was out hunting – he was being mauled by a grizzly bear."

"But," I blinked and thought back to last night's discussion. "I thought you said that Carlisle changed the rest of you – all except Alice and Jasper."

Edward made an acquiescing gesture, "He did. Rosalie was too new to risk such a thing – it's really a _very_ difficult process to undertake; something only a select few of our kind can manage. If it hadn't been for _something _she saw in his face, she likely wouldn't have been able to resist the draw of his blood. As it was, she rescued him from the grizzly and carried him back to Carlisle – over one-hundred miles."

A rueful smile touched the edges of his mouth and the tawny depths of his eyes, "That's why grizzly is Emmett's favorite. Every single Spring he sets out on a mission to settle that old score."

I shook my head in disbelieving bemusement. Considering the … _intimidating_ figure that Emmett was, it was difficult for me to imagine him doing something so … so _childish_. But, then again, I suppose I didn't really know him very well.

Sitting there, contemplating the antics of a grizzly-hunting, score-settling, decades-old vampire, I realized that Edward had failed to answer a part of my question – the one pertaining to Rosalie, specifically.

"What about Rosalie? How did she come to be part of the family?"

For the first time since we'd entered the car, Edward's stony façade cracked and he shifted uncomfortably, "Rose's story … it's not like the rest of ours." He ran a hand through his tousled bronze hair, "I'm not really sure it's my place to tell it – she doesn't speak of it to anyone. The only reason I know is …." He trailed off into silence.

I didn't need the explanation, I understood.

"Because you can read her mind." I finished for him.

He nodded his head, "Compared to the rest of us … Rosalie's death was …." He sucked in a slow breath before looking at me, "Let me put it this way: Do you remember those men who cornered you in Port Angeles?"

A shiver, equal parts remembered fear and hatred, flitted over my skin and I nodded.

"The same thing happened to her, only …."

"There wasn't someone there to whisk her away," my words were whispered, mournful. Translucent images from the depths of _Lonnie's_ mind were flashing across my vision as I spoke. The poor girl I'd seen in his head, Rosalie had met the same fate as she had.

Before I knew what was happening, Edward had me wrapped in his arms; his chin resting atop my head and one hand rubbing comforting circles in the small of my back. It wasn't until I sucked in a broken breath, that I realized I was crying. Analyzing the reason, I came to understand that my tears weren't only ones of sorrow. Sure, I was saddened by what I had learned of Rosalie's death – of all of their deaths – but that wasn't solely responsible for the tears. Part of me was crying in relief.

Carlisle hadn't been accountable for a single one of his family members' deaths. In fact, every single one of them had been dying for completely unrelated reasons _before_ he had selected them. The _relief_ I felt over this revelation was astounding.

"Shhh, love," his voice was quiet and soothing, much as it had been last night. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you all that."

I shook my head and pulled back, using the cuff of my shirt to wipe the last of the teary wetness from beneath my eyes, "No, I'm fine – really." I tried for a sardonic smile, "It's probably better that I know the basics now, anyway. I'm a bit _notorious_ for asking the wrong questions at the wrong time."

His sniff of bemused agreement was short and sharp, ringing strongly of ruefulness.

I nibbled my lip anxiously as I watched his intense eyes watching me. Even knowing that none of the Cullens had _chosen_ to become vampires, I felt that Carlisle's decision to change them hadn't been so much for his benefit as for theirs. However, being who I was, I wanted actual confirmation – it would ease a little of my fear. But how to go about asking for it without insulting someone Edward held in such high regard?

The cool stone-like flesh of Edward's hand came up to cup the left side of my face as his metallic gaze bore into mine, "It's so strange …."

I blinked once, confused by his vague statement, "What is?"

"It's like …," his thumb ghosted softly across my cheek, "Your eyes are so …_deep_ – I've never seen them so expressive. Watching them as you think …. I swear I can almost _hear_ you – like everything is _just _out of reach."

The pupils of his eyes dilated, the fantastic golden iris swallowed up almost completely by the depthless blackness. In the faint reflection off the glassy surface, I could make out the dark tawny-green of my own eyes. At first, I didn't notice anything amiss about the image. However, as I continued to stare, I began to realize that something was _off_.

* * *

><p>In the exact center-point of the ocular reflection, where the shadowy darkness of my pupil should have been nearly indiscernible against the murky hues surrounding it, there, instead, was a misty grayness – almost like my eyes were catching some dim, far-off light source. For some reason well beyond the scope of my understanding, I felt as though there were something extremely significant about that hazy cloudiness – something I should know. Something I should remember ….<p>

Concentrating with acute effort, I locked my eyes on the strange fog-like illumination; willing whatever secrets it concealed forward. Without conscious command, my breathing came to a stop. In the stagnant stillness of the car cab, that strange electric energy between Edward and I began to throb.

Slowly, the faint glow spread, engulfing the entirety of my deep hazel irises in a soft, pearl-like mist. From somewhere deep inside me I began to hear noises reminiscent of the sea; strangely invoking feelings of both familiarity and foreboding. They started out faint, distant and only barely discernable. Then, as I continued to stare, to listen, they grew louder; overshadowing even my own thoughts with their cacophony.

Once at its fullest extent, the shadowy grayness changed. No longer was it simply a light, a reflection. Now there was movement, shifting – like the stirring of disturbed fog.

That was when I heard the first of the voices. It was low and soft, as though purposefully in harmony with the oceanic waves already filling my head. The notes slid smoothly from one to another at a leisurely tempo. For several bars the woman sang alone, her deep alto vibrato urging of safety, of rest.

Eventually, another voice joined in – this one a high, clear soprano. Her tune was faster, more playful. Each quick, trilled note reminiscent of sunny summer days spent frolicking along the beach; of the careless freedom of children racing the waves of a rising tide back to the shore.

Despite the stark contrast of cadence and emotion between the two compositions, they flowed together perfectly – somehow, managing to make the listener yearn for fulfillment of both promises.

It wasn't until the third voice joined in that it was made apparent that the song had been missing something. The third woman sang at a range perfectly centered between her companions, dipping both into the alto and soprano notes to feed life into her melody. It was hard to immediately identify the promise lingering beneath this singer's song. Even so, there was a quality to her voice which weighed heavily of passion, of intensity – a sensual tenor that caused the muscles of my stomach to clench and the thundering of my pulse to speed. And, unlike the other two, her tune had words – though not in any language I could understand.

From out of nowhere, I was overcome with a fierce desire to do something reckless, something passionate and absolutely honest. Before I had a chance to question the urge, I was moving – and so was Edward. We moved in a strange, disconnected unity; our actions happening in perfect rhythm with that third, hypnotizing voice.

Edward's cool hand slid from my face, over my ear, and through my hair until it found anchor in the soft curls at the nape of my neck. His other hand, still wrapped around me, pressed firmly against the small of my back, forcing me closer. At the exact same time, my hands were shifting to mirror his; one in the silken strands of his auburn hair, the other grasping a handful of the back of his shirt.

All the while, that exhilarating zing of electric energy coursed over my skin; intensified almost to the point of pain whenever his bare skin brushed mine. And still the haunting women sang, the throb of that unknown current seeming to follow the focused tempo of that third, sensual voice.

Our adjustments came to an end just as the woman hit a high, clear note. In that same moment, the pulsating energy arched and my eyes slid shut. Edward's hand tightened in my hair and I felt his muscles shift as he leaned toward me.

* * *

><p>The electronic chirping of a cell phone cut through the hypnotism like a knife.<p>

Confusion was the first thing that registered. As I blinked my eyes open, I felt heavy, sluggish – like I had just woken from a dream. For the life of me, I couldn't recall _how_ I had ended up as I was; wrapped in Edward's arms, his face inches from mine and wearing an expression of mingled confusion and concern.

I glanced around, trying to figure out what had happened. The cab was silent, save for the quiet sounds of my breathing. And, somehow, that felt … _wrong_ – like something important was missing. The problem was that it didn't make sense; everything was in exactly the same place it had been before. How could something be missing, when everything was still here? Even so, I couldn't seem to dismiss the feeling.

"What … what happened?" My voice was deeper than normal and I cleared my throat.

Several long seconds passed before he answered, his eyes carefully scrutinizing my face, "I'm not sure, exactly." His death grip on my hair eased, as did the pressure against my back.

Until his hold had loosened, I hadn't noticed where my own hands were. With mortification, I realized just how … _clingy_ I was being. Faster than I would have believed possible, I released the hold I had on his hair and shirt; drawing both my hands and my eyes back to my lap.

What was I _doing_? Hadn't I learned my lesson that first time? Apparently not, because I'd been wrapped around him in a way totally inappropriate for the venue we were in – not to mention the boundaries I'd set the previous evening for our relationship.

Yet those questions – and self-chidings – were not the most important thing on my mind. Far more disturbing – and possibly dangerous – was the fact that I couldn't remember what had happened. The last thing I _could _recall was jokingly pointing out my propensity for ill-timed inquiries. After that … nothing until the phone.

Speaking of the phone, it went off again – the annoyingly-pitched chirping sound echoed through the tense silence that had fallen between Edward and I.

With an aggravated sigh, Edward's hand slipped from behind my back and into the front pocket of his jeans. Stretching in a very _human_ way, he managed to free the tiny electronic device; his fingers gliding quickly across the screen to activate it. A quick peek revealed a series of words on the screen; though, from my angle, I couldn't read the missive.

Returning my eyes to my lap, I felt a surge of … _irritation_ toward the unknown sender. Whoever it was, their damned message had interrupted …. I didn't know – whatever it was that had been happening. The sensation was completely irrational – how could I be angry with someone for interrupting something I couldn't even _remember_? Nevertheless, I was.

And that scared me. Because, if I was capable of being upset, I _should _be capable of remembering. The fact that I _couldn't_ said one thing: the amnesia was purposeful. And, if that were true, then there were only two options. Either someone else was actively messing with my head or _I_ was doing it to myself.

Stupid as it might have been, I fervently _wished_ for the former option to be true. There were only a handful of … _beings_ in the world who would have any reason to stoop so low as to harangue me in such a manner; and, truth be told, most of _them_ weren't the 'long-distance' type. The hope wasn't logical in any shape or form – I had yet to encounter a supernatural being whose … _abilities_ were able to bypass the strange mental defenses afforded by my _quirks_. But that wasn't the point. Irrational or not, I preferred the external perpetrator for one very specific reason: it was the safer option. Because, if _I_ had locked the memory away, then it was something my subconscious – my instincts – had done without my knowledge. And there was only one reason for my mind to do that: to protect me. It would mean that whatever had happened was something I couldn't _handle _knowing – something that would destroy what little peace I had left.

An icy chill ghosted down my spine, colder even than the faint pressure of Edward's hand still in my hair, and I shivered convulsively. Of all the things I _didn't_ want to be thinking about this morning, _this_ was ranked pretty high amongst them.

Edward's eyes shifted momentarily to me as I shook before he removed his hand from my hair and his fingers began quickly gliding over the cell phone screen.

Time for a distraction.

"Who is it?" Again, that strange, unwarranted twinge of irritation.

"Alice," his voice was soft and careful – much in the way it had been following our kiss yesterday afternoon.

Oddly enough, hearing her name really didn't surprise me. For some reason, it felt … _right_ that she'd been the one to stop us. And, at the same time, it still felt _wrong_.

"What does she want?" I forced that strange feeling away, resolving that, if Alice had seen fit to interrupt us, things had needed to be interrupted.

"She says they're ready." He finished typing, his eyes flitting quickly across the luminescent screen before he hit the green 'send' button.

It took me a second before I was able to follow, "They're ready? They know I'm coming?"

Stretching again, he slipped the tiny black box into his jeans pocket as he answered, "Yes. I thought it best to give them some advanced warning – you do have this tendency to be … surprising." He smirked in a teasing way.

I sniffed loudly, "_Surprising_. Well, that's certainly _one_ way to put it."

He reached over and gently squeezed my hand once before turning over the engine and backing us out of the driveway.

* * *

><p>I stared out my side window, not seeing the cars or houses or businesses rolling past quicker than was legal. In fact, I wasn't really seeing anything. My eyes were blind to the world around me as my mind skittered aimlessly around. It was purposeful, of course. I wasn't normally a space-case. I just didn't really want to think about … well, I didn't want to think about it.<p>

The quiet snarl of the car's engine being cranked up to a higher RPM level finally made me snap out of my cognitive emptiness. Looking around, I could only see tall, moss-covered tree trunks and overgrown ferns surrounding us. Judging by the angle of the sun, I guessed we'd headed north out of town; though, if the narrow lanes were any indication, it wasn't on a major highway. I didn't recognize the route – not surprising, considering my lack of northern excursions. In fact, now that I thought about it, there really weren't all that many things to the north of Forks; mostly county roads which lead to hunting preserves or acted as back wood scenic routes to other small towns.

Watching my surroundings through the windshield, I couldn't help wondering where Edward actually lived. Over our many discourses, the subject had never arisen – not at all unexpected, considering our brevity of _polite _contact.

Five minutes later, we crossed over the Calawah River; the brief break in the engulfing foliage somehow serving to reinforce the sensation of being closed in. Somewhat nostalgically, I watched the stony stream snake east, craning my neck in an attempt to keep the rushing water in view. Too quickly, it was gone; the bar-like trees studding the roadside in a sadly-effective imitation of a cage.

That imagery alone set me to fidgeting once again. Like it wasn't disconcerting enough meeting Edward's family _without_ the landscape-provided jailhouse metaphors? Geez. At this rate, I'd hyperventilate and pass out _before_ I even made it in the front door. And what a great first impression that would make, huh?

_Skittish? No, Lillie's not skittish. She's down-right neurotic!_

I sniffed loudly at myself as my 'sarcastic' voice provided internal commentary. It was a damn good thing that no one else got to see inside my head. Sometimes there were too many things going on in there for even _me_ to figure out. Anyone else would have me committed, on the spot.

"Will you _please_ tell me what you're thinking about?"

I jumped, having become accustomed to the quiet purr of the vehicle and my own thoughts being the loudest sounds around me.

"What?" My eyes were drawn to him as I tried to stem the tide of adrenaline that had just been dumped into my system.

His brows were pulled down a little in the center, the pale marble of his skin forming a faint 'v' impression between them. The brilliant gold of his eyes scanned my flushed face for a moment before he answered me, "You've been huffing and puffing over there for a few minutes now. I was just wondering what you were thinking – well, that and whether you were practicing to blow my house down." Another one of his award-winning smiles.

I glowered a little, "I'm not 'huffing and puffing'." Without really intending to, I let out of huff of air in a show of exasperation. As soon as I realized I'd done it, I felt my cheeks heat.

_Stupid knee-jerk reactions._

An amused twinkle danced across his eyes, "All right, you weren't huffing and puffing. But are you going to tell me what you're thinking so hard about?"

I rolled my eyes, "It's nothing you want to hear – trust me."

Now, it was his turn to look exasperated.

Sighing, I decided to elaborate. "I'm just self-criticizing."

"Criticizing? Over what?" His expression morphed into one of concern.

I shrugged, "Anything – everything. It's just something I do, when I'm nervous."

His cool hand was suddenly covering mine, "There's nothing to be nervous about, Lillie." He squeezed once, softly, "I'll be right there with you the whole time."

I nibbled the inside of my cheek for a moment, "I know. It's just …." Changing my words at the last moment, "I can't help it. It's not something I'm exactly _used_ to doing."

He smiled, "Don't worry. They're going to love you."

The muscles of my stomach tightened a bit as something I hadn't before considered flitted through my head. How much did the Cullens know about me? More importantly, was I going to have to sit through more questions from them?

Cue the butterflies.

* * *

><p>Within moments, Edward had eased up on the gas pedal; his foot instead applying light pressure to the brakes. Glancing around, I couldn't readily identify any sort of turnoff – everything to either side of us still appeared to be part of two solid walls of greenery. His eyes flickered to me for a short second before he returned them to the road, his hands smoothly turning the wheel left.<p>

It wasn't until we were faced directly _at_ the dirt pathway that I could make it out from the rest of the forest. Well packed and foliage-free, the twisting road was wide enough for a vehicle half-again as large as the compact Volvo we were currently in. Large serpentine branches from the surrounding trees sprawled high overhead, draped liberally with thick curtains of moss and lichen in various shades of green. Interspersed amongst their gnarled trunks where large ferns and the occasional wild shrub dotted with small, white flowers. In a way, the meandering path felt natural, despite the obvious effort it had taken to clear it. The unpaved surface curled lazily around the trees, lending a labyrinthine quality to the drive; the smooth-packed route visible for no more than a few meters at a time.

Now that we were off the main thoroughfare, Edward allowed the car to putter along at a pace just over coasting.

"Edward," my tone was a little shakier than I would have liked.

His eyes came back to my face, the weight of concern drowning the liveliness of previous banter from their tawny depths.

"What …," I had to swallow before I was able to continue. "What's the plan?"

Confusion flickered across his angelic features, "What do you mean?"

Swallowing, again. "What's going to happen? I mean, I know you're going to introduce me to your family but …," my teeth absently claimed my lower lip for a few heartbeats as I tried to orient my question. "What happens then?"

The confusion stayed, "I'm sorry, I think I'm missing something …."

I sighed. Obviously, I wasn't asking the right questions.

"What do they know about me? Have you told them anything?"

The confusion cleared right up. But, now, there was a small measure of chagrin riding his strong features, "Yes, I've told them about you – some of it, anyway. I figured …." He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to the road – which, until then, he'd been navigating from memory. "I didn't want you to have to go through that all over again."

I blinked, not sure what he meant.

"I gave them the _Reader's Digest_ version of what you told me."

It took a half-second before I could make sense out of the reference – I'd never actually read an issue, though the saying was popular enough. When it finally clicked, I eyed him furtively, "So … they know what?" Personally, my 'repeat orphan with abnormal mental condition' conjecture from the previous evening was running through my head. In all honesty, it _was_ the most _condensed_ version of my history that he could have provided.

He sighed, his focus never leaving the winding road. "They know that you lost your family to some of our kind. And that … well, that you were _procured_ on purpose because of your abilities."

An echo of that familiar hollow emptiness radiated through my chest as he spoke, throbbing painfully in a way that made it difficult to breathe. I tried to ignore it, to focus, instead, on the vitally important topic at hand; but it was challenging. That invisible hole had been punched through me on the first night I'd woken after my capture, when _he_'d informed me of the demise of my kin. Over time, it would scab up, hurt less. But each time I lost someone else, it would rip open, larger and more painful than the last time; a cumulative injury of my heart and soul rather than one of the flesh.

I closed my eyes only to find the translucent faces of the departed hovering in the darkness of my head. There weren't many, around a dozen. So many I had lost. And, yet, so few I had been bound to.

My breathing must have become labored because I felt Edward's cool hand softly nudging my chin upward. Forcibly, I pushed the faces away; opening my eyes to find glittering gold ones staring at me.

"Are you angry with me?" His voice was soft, contrite.

I shook my head.

"Still nervous, though?"

I nodded, not sure my voice was quite neutral enough yet.

His marble fingers uncurled lazily as he drew the palm of his hand up to cup the side of my face, "Don't worry. They know the rules."

My brows furrowed in confusion. Steady voice or not, the words spilled from me before I had a chance to censor them. "Rules? What rules? There are rules?"

The faintest trace of shock widened his eyes as he watched the emotions flit across my face, "The same as before."

I didn't follow, "What _rules_?" Geez. Didn't he think it might be important for me to know the 'rules' _before_ I got to his house?

"I think we're on different pages," his voice was quiet, almost inaudible.

I glared.

Shaking his head slightly from side to side, he lowered his hand from my face. "The rule that says you don't _have_ to answer any question you don't want to."

"Oh." Okay, so I was a teeny tiny bit frazzled this morning – sue me. When he'd said 'rules' I'd been expecting something more …. I don't know, just not that.

His eyebrows ticked up a notch, "Expecting something else?"

I glowered somewhat, "I didn't know _what_ to expect, Edward. I'm not exactly an expert on Vampire-Human etiquette."

He laughed softly, "Well, that makes two of us."

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. Why was it that _I_ always ended up being the one doing something awkward and unintentionally funny?

His mirthful chuckle cut off after a few seconds, "Please keep in mind that it goes both ways, though."

I looked back at him, trying to understand his meaning. It took a ridiculously long few seconds before I figured out that he was referring to the 'rule' topic again.

"Of course," I dipped my head once in acknowledgment. To be honest, I wasn't certain whether I'd be asking many questions this go-around. I'd probably be lucky to keep my heart rate and breathing even. It might take a little bit before I felt comfortable enough with the rest of his family to become inquisitive. After all, I wasn't precisely accustomed to having vampires answer my questions – well, not until recently, and that was Edward. The status quo usually involved a marked lack in conversation.

_No, no, no._ I chided myself. There was absolutely _no_ room for those kinds of thoughts this morning. In fact, _my_ new rule said that I wasn't allowed to drift off on that tangent for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>We rode the next few miles in silence, Edward's hand gently holding mine on the edge of my seat. The whole while I stared out the windows at the looming greenery of the ancient forest surrounding us. The twisting nature of the path kept us enshrouded beneath the leafy canopy up until the last minute; making the emergence as much a surprise as what it revealed.<p>

The wild overgrowth of the tree line gave way in a near-perfect line to a sprawling acre of manicured emerald green grass. At that dividing line, the natural dirt path yielded to a driveway of pristine gray cobblestones. That paved route cut straight through the lawn toward a house that seemed as though it belonged seated amongst the cotton and tobacco fields of the antebellum South rather than in the woody confines of the Northwestern Hoh Rainforest.

Painted a muted shade of off-white, the three story mansion was built in the old colonial style; five dormer windows peeking out from beneath the charcoal shingles of the gabled roof which sloped out to crown the tops of four dual-story Corinthian columns studding the deep porch that stretched across the face of the building. The tall, narrow, shuttered windows were set at precise intervals across the face – two on either side of the large wooden door on the first floor and five on the second story – and so perfectly matched the construction that they were either the original windows or exact replicas. The door itself was wide and painted the same ebony shade as the roof and shutters. On the southern end of the house was a newer extension – newer in that it was still more than eighty years old; a single story addition almost fully overgrown with various greenery.

The cobblestone drive forked off to the north before wrapping itself sinuously around a finely domed snowbrush bush in the manner of old carriage circles, the smooth stones running right up to the bottom steps leading from the porch. The other fork ran to another snowy building; this one resembling a renovated stable house. Three large gate-like wooden doors decorated the front – the central one measuring somewhat taller and broader than the others. Even from this distance I could make out the distinctive orange of early-blooming honeysuckle clinging to patches of the walls.

As for the rest of the yard, there were a number of enormous, primordial cedar trees which cast their generous shadows across everything in narrowing, arrow-like swaths. The break between the manor house and the stables revealed a breathtaking view of the Calawah River which snaked along the western-most edge of the open land behind the mansion. Several smaller dogwood trees were scattered hither and thither across the lawn; their pale white blooms fluttering gently in the breeze. But not everything was in shades of white. Looking around, you could spot smatterings of colors everywhere; from the reddish hues of fireweed and red paintbrush stalks to the shocking pink of pacific rhododendron bushes and the sunny bursts of woody sunflowers, all the way through the deep purple of great camas and harvest lilies, it was all there. And, somehow, despite the variety, the grounds managed to look both natural and groomed.

My mouth hung open in awe as Edward slowly pulled up to the house. Now that I was close enough to make it out, I discovered that the Corinthian-style columns weren't bare. Rather, they were each swathed liberally in climbing roses – all the way up the whole two stories. The flowers were a soft bluish-lavender – a color almost indiscernible from white from more than a few yards away.

Ethereal, that was what the effect came down to. The house looked like something pulled directly out of the Technicolor reel of _Gone with the Wind_.

So caught up with the fantastical visual delicacy surrounding us, I completely missed the car coming to a stop. It wasn't until Edward's tall, lithe form interrupted my view of the darkly stained floorboards of the porch that some semblance of reality returned. I blinked once, my hands automatically seeking the release catch of the seat belt as he gingerly eased my door open. His hand came down, hovering just below eye level as an aide to rising.

Placing my own into his grasp, I allowed him to draw me up to a standing position; all the while my eyes devoured the architectural elegance around me, my breath held in the manner of rapt attention. I'd lived in some rather intriguing places before, but never in my whole life had I been so enchanted by a setting so much as I was now.

"Do you like it?" Edward's honeyed voice was low, serene in both tone and cadence; somehow managing to fit _perfectly_ with the old world setting we'd stepped into.

My held breath slipped out in a whispered laugh of mingled surprise and pleasure, "It's magnificent!" The words were hardly adequate, but they were the best I could come up with.

Drawing in a full breath through my nose, I was granted another tier of pleasure and my eyes slid shut in rapture. The air was gloriously weighty with the natural humidity of so much annual rainfall, plus a little extra from the close proximity of the swiftly-flowing river a few dozen yards away. But that wasn't what so completely overwhelmed me. Aside from the clean, crisp scent of the rushing water, there were a myriad of other floral scents floating around me; a superb blend of hearty, tart crabapple, citrusy orange, and the dense, earthiness of grass hovered amidst the stronger spicy sweetness of the blue moon roses wrapped around the two closest columns. The aroma was heavenly, to say the least – utterly unique; something I would never forget, as long as I lived. It smelled like home.

When, at last, my eyes fluttered back open, the look on Edward's face was heartwarming – bemusement and satisfaction joined together to light his smile and the butterscotch of his eyes. Wrapping one arm around my waist, his other hand slid along the sensitive skin of my neck as his forehead dipped down to touch mine. As his strong fingers folded themselves sinuously around the back-left side of my neck, I drew my own arms around him; a small, nervous smile playing around the corners of my mouth.

"I'm glad you like it," the tip of his nose glided once across my own.

We stood there for a few moments, wrapped in each other's embrace and lost in our own little world.

Pulling back, he looked me in the eyes – contentment in his. "Are you ready to go in?"

And, just like that, the fairytale spell of the property was swept away. The muscles of my stomach and chest tightened in a way that made it difficult to breathe. Even the rhythmic drumming of my pulse picked up, as a small dosage of adrenaline was released into my veins. My jaw clenched shut, making it impossible to speak, and my eyes immediately shifted over his shoulder to focus on the large, ebony-stained cedar door centered in the off-white wall across the porch.

And, suddenly, I wasn't seeing the innocuous entrance to Edward's house ….

* * *

><p>They'd come sometime in the night, the women; snatched me off the floor of my cell and dragged me away. At first, I thought perhaps <em>he<em> had grown tired of me – had decided I was no longer worth keeping. As frightening as dying at the hands of the _others_ was, I would have welcomed it. It would have meant an end to the nightmare.

But they didn't strike, didn't even act as though they were interested. Instead, they wordlessly carried me through corridor after corridor, up countless flights of stairs, and past innumerable closed doors; toward some destination they alone knew.

_._

It was eight feet of unnaturally dark cedar, banded with crisscrossing stripes of aged iron, bearing a large keyhole, and a single, high-set circular cutout broken by thin iron bars. There was never any other reason for the door to be fashioned so; sitting at the end of a narrow, windowless corridor atop a steep, twisting set of stairs. It was just another cell. They weren't there to execute me. I was being moved.

It wasn't until they had shoved the heavy barricade aside, granting me my first view of my new prison, that I began to understand that things were about to change for the worse. The furnishings were garishly elegant – obscenely so. Everything that wasn't gilded was bejeweled or brocaded. I felt like I'd stepped into the Palace of Versailles – and that had frightened me more than the prospect of dying had. Because, if this were Versailles, then I knew _exactly_ who King Louis was.

Since the night I had been captured, I had been living in one variant of Hell or another – each somehow worse than the one that came before it. Of all of them, this was the worst. My first tortures were administered not by the hands from which I'd come to expect it, but rather as the ministrations of those four women. The experience was completely unlike the rough, barbaric beatings I had received at the hands of males; it was more pointed, thorough … demeaning.

Not once, throughout the entire ordeal, did they speak to me. Though they spoke often among themselves as they worked; scrubbing, grooming, primping me like a toy poodle – yet without the affection one would show for a pet.

_He_ had arrived in the end, slinking silently in as they relentlessly tightened a corset around me; that wickedly patient smile spread across the unnaturally translucent skin of _his_ face.

* * *

><p>"Love?" The distressed tenor of Edward's liquid voice pulled me out of the memory.<p>

Despite the tenseness of the muscles in my torso – and the lingering twinge of remembered binding – I sucked in a breath through my teeth and forced my gaze away from the door. It wasn't until I tried to move my head, to look down at his soft grey sweater, that I noticed Edward's cold hands pressed firmly to either side of my face. Therefore, with no other option, I focused on his angelic face.

I'd seen concern there before – it was a sadly familiar expression, nowadays. Even irritation, forced neutrality, teasing, passion, and ruefulness were emotions I was well acquainted with seeing on him. But I hadn't yet seen alarm, until now.

The instant our eyes met, the harshness of his expression began to relax and he breathed a sigh of relief, "God above!" His admonition was quiet, spoken in a voice nearly too low and fast for me to understand. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," the words were entirely untrue, but I couldn't stop the automatic response from slipping out. It even sounded like a lie, with my jaw shaking relentlessly.

"Don't," his expression tightened just a bit. "I've seen enough of you to know when you're _fine_. That wasn't fine – that wasn't even entirely _here_. What happened?"

Putting a fair amount of strength into the action, I shook my head between his hands. My face didn't move much – a few centimeters in either direction – but I knew he'd understand the gesture, nonetheless.

"Bad memories," I said quietly, working to control my anxiety. "I don't want to talk about it now."

He sighed softly and all traces of irritation bled from his features to, instead, be replaced by the old go-to: concern. Easing his grip on my face, he squarely met my gaze; scrutinizing every nervous flicker of my eyes, each convulsive clench of my jaw.

"Do you want to go home?"

_Yes_. It was the first thing that jumped to mind, spawned from _years_ of justifiable terror. But it wasn't entirely true. Part of me wanted to go home because, despite all the assurances from myself and Edward, I couldn't get over the fact that what I was about to do _now_ was basically kith and kin to what I'd been forced to do _then_. The unwelcome flashback I'd just dredged up only served to reinforce that logic.

However, another part of me didn't want to leave. That portion of me understood the necessity of meeting Edward's family – both for reasons pertaining to my relationship with him and for those relative to my own peace of mind. If I wanted to be with Edward – and Lord knew I did – then I had to take this step. The … people inside were important to him. Our relationship had already driven a wedge between them. And, as frightened as I might be, I wasn't willing to further that divide.

For myself, the reasoning was simple. In more than one-hundred years, I'd come to expect two things from vampires. Pain and death. Before Forks, I could never have conceived of there being any other possibilities. But now that I had met Edward, that preconception was gone. He'd shown me that vampires were so much more than bloodlust and anger and violence. There was also the capacity for empathy, compassion, and love. And it was that face which I longed to see more of; that I hoped would come to be as viable to me as the ugly mask I'd first been exposed to.

Drawing in a slow breath I shook my head; the inimitable scent of his skin helping to soothe the tension I felt.

Scouring my face with his eyes, he didn't speak. No doubt trying to read my thoughts with a determined intensity.

I smiled meekly and brushed the back of my right hand across his chiseled jaw, "You'll be with me, right?" I already knew the answer, but I was trying to reassure him.

His hand came up and gripped mine, squeezing it lightly. "The whole time – I promise."

I nodded and lowered our hands to hang at our sides, "I trust you."

* * *

><p>If Edward's hand had been any more malleable, he would have had every right to complain about how tightly I was clutching it. As it was, the marble-like flesh barely indented beneath my unrelenting, white-knuckled grip. He led the way, setting a leisurely pace which allowed me to adjust as we went.<p>

As unexpected as the grandeur of the exterior had been, it was nothing when compared to what lay within. When the dark door swung silently inward, I was ready to see a formal foyer; small, enclosed, and decorationally consistent with the architectural roots of the façade – dark woods, paisley-esque fabrics, and antiquated furnishings. What I saw was completely different.

Above our heads and sweeping smoothly to our left was a wide, wooden staircase – a small, white cupboard door set into the wall beneath it. A few feet beyond that was another door – this one full sized and gleaming a very pale, polished cedar color. The wall – covered in a sophisticated wallpaper of alternating vertical ivory and white stripes – continued on to the mid-point of the house's breadth, where it met a single round, wooden pillar. Beyond that was an oval-shaped oak table; a bouquet of long-stem blue moon roses nestled in a narrow crystal vase at its center and a patterned ivory runner dividing its length.

Directly in front of us, at the far end of the house, stood a set of french doors; each housing a single, long pane of glass which glistened faintly in the sunshine. But, despite the simple elegance of them, the doors weren't the most impressive things along that wall. That award went to the spectacular view. Save for the interruption of the minimalist wooden frames of each of the double doors – and Edward's tall form – the _entire_ back wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows. Aside from providing an absolutely picturesque view of the rear lawn as it slopped gently down to the shore of the Calawah River, the windows brought in a staggering amount of light.

Glancing to the right, I found that the dividing walls of the original design had been removed; making way for a more modern, open floor plan. The only evidence of their existence were two more wooden pillars placed in a line parallel to the windows. In the far corner, set upon a raised dais, stood a grand piano; the highly polished sheen off its midnight surface catching the sunshine and, somehow, making it seem less dark.

As for the rest of the furnishings, they were an eclectic mix of modern and antique pieces with two unifying themes: comfortable and pale. From the upholstery to the throw pillows and rugs, everything was in varying shades of white – snowy to creamy. Wooden items tended toward the same, pale cedar as the doors and floors, while anything metal seemed to be brass.

Edward stood, his hand still clasped tightly with my own as he watched me examine my surroundings. He didn't rush me. Rather, he gave me the time I needed to acclimate. When, at last, my eyes returned to him, he smiled encouragingly and squeezed my hand once.

Then he shifted and my eyes were immediately drawn to the one spot his body had been obscuring from my view. All the way across the room – some fifteen or twenty feet from where I stood and directly in front of the windows – was an informal sitting area; a series of overstuffed loveseats and armchairs, casually arrayed around the border of a circular area rug. More importantly, were the _people_ seated in those chairs. Six pairs of pale, golden eyes watched me, their snowy skin and light colored clothing blending in flawlessly with the pale-on-pale color scheme.

Like a small animal that's suddenly caught the scent of a stalking predator, my initial instinct was to freeze; to become so quiet and still that I might be overlooked by the dangerous hunters. To that end, my throat seized up, effectively cutting off all airflow in and out of my lungs. Had I been anything less – in either intelligence or experience – I might have stopped with that reaction; allowed the crashing waves of fear bombarding me to lock me into that impractical state of waiting. But I wasn't.

I was so much more than some frightened little rabbit. Therefore, as quickly as the urge to stymie my breathing kicked in, my reason forced my lungs to expand and contract at an even, measured pace. The result was the shortest of hitches to my breathing – a gap of no more than a few milliseconds, at most. Rather remarkable, really – considering the wash of terror I was desperately trying to hold back.

My one concession to that fear was to strengthen my hold on Edward's hand; the bones of my fingers starting to ache with the severity of their strain.

For several long seconds I stood there, carefully examining the sextet of gloriously beautiful and extraordinarily powerful people seated across the room. They were arrayed such that each and every face was visible to me from the door. Five of them I had seen before – at the hospital or school – leaving a single member of the family unfamiliar.

The one woman I didn't know was seated in the center-most loveseat next to Carlisle; her billows of caramel hair framing a face which appeared _softer_ than those around her – less angular. In her own way, she was just as beautiful as the golden-haired debutant lounging in an armchair two spaces to the right. The suppleness of her features portraying wisdom and sensuality rather than stark perfection.

Esme – an old French name meaning 'to love'. If the welcoming smile on her face were any indication, the name suited her well. From the crown of her flaxen head down to the points of her designer heels, Esme radiated an aura which was uniquely maternal.

And the lost little girl in me responded, the smallest of tentative smiles tweaking the corners of my lips up as I looked at her. Despite how scared I was, I couldn't help feeling drawn to her. Of all the members of Edward's family, I felt that she would be the one whom I would feel safest with.

My eyes drifted to the right, taking in the polished appearance of Carlisle. Like his wife, his angelic face wore a welcoming expression. For a wonder, I found myself able to meet his gilded gaze. Considering how unsure of him I'd been earlier this morning, I was a little surprised. But standing there, actually _looking _at him, it was hard to see in Carlisle what I'd always seen in _him_. For all the similarities their positions might afford, there wasn't a trace of superiority or smugness to be found on the sandy-haired doctor's face; not a hint of cruelty or malice in the glint of his eyes.

Continuing along, I found myself staring into Rosalie's eyes, and my hesitant smile slipped just a tad at what I found there. Unlike the last time, there was no hatred pouring out from her beatific face. Rather, I was confronted by apathy. Her yellow eyes were flat, lusterless – the same way Edward's looked, when he was trying to hide his emotions. I swallowed reflexively and hurriedly broke eye contact.

When they landed on Emmett, I couldn't keep them there for long. With as _playful_ as Edward had made him sound – and smirking or not – it was still a little difficult to see past the bulging mass of muscle and sinew that was his physical form. My heart stuttered a tiny bit and I quickly cast my sight in the opposite direction.

Alice was quite a vision in soft, neutral tones. Usually, at school, she wore dark colors which contrasted against the milky hue of her marble skin. But that wasn't the only thing different today. Seated on the edge of a loveseat with Jasper, the tiny pixie-like vampire was actually fidgeting – I mean _really_ fidgeting. One of her feet was resting on its ball while her entire leg twitched up and down in quick, almost invisible movements. It was, honestly, one of the strangest things I had ever seen. It might have even scared me, had it not been for the broad smile plastered on her face and the innocently anticipatory light dancing in her eyes. Truthfully, she looked like a six year old on Christmas morning – just _waiting_ to open her presents.

My own grin ticked up a notch.

The last member of the family left for me to scrutinize was Jasper – the tall, quiet one who always looked just a smidge wild. While he wasn't grinning, his expression didn't give the impression of ennui either. Instead, he seemed to be draped in serenity. And, when our eyes met, I felt a wave of that calm wash over me – even little Alice's leg stopped twitching for a moment.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Why wouldn't I be comfortable here? It wasn't until I spied Edward's nod to Jasper that I remembered a key bit of information.

Right. Jasper was an empath.

When this knowledge slid into place, I nodded my own thanks to the subtly helpful vampire. For the last few minutes, I'd been doing my best to control the outward evidences of my fear; trying to keep from making matters worse – both for me and the seven vampires around me. At this point, I'd take all the help I could get.

He dipped his head once in acknowledgment.

Finished with my cursory examination, I looked up at Edward. Save that brief nod a few seconds before, his honeyed eyes hadn't left my face since he'd revealed his family. The expression his wore was carefully neutral, pleasant, but I could see the rapt attention, the concern, in his eyes.

_I can do this_, I told myself once before easing my grip on his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

The six vampires rose sinuously to their feet as Edward and I slowly crossed the room to them. Leisurely, Carlisle and Esme stepped forward, placing themselves just ahead of the two other couples. Then they waited.

Trailing a foot or so behind Edward, I let him do the leading. When he came to a stop several feet away from his parents, I finally drew abreast of him. As my gaze swept across the sextet of spectacular creatures before me, I felt another welcome waft of serenity blow across my consciousness.

Squeezing my hand once, Edward began to speak.

"Everyone, allow me to introduce Lillie. Lillie, these are my parents: Carlisle and Esme."

"You are very welcome, Lillie." Carlisle's voice was just as delectable as it had been the first time I'd heard it – the faintest trace of an English accent gilding his words. Unhurriedly, he took a half step forward and extended his hand toward me.

Far more comfortable than I should have felt - maybe Jasper was overdoing it a little with the emotion-manipulation ... – I mirrored his advance and took his hand, shaking it firmly, "Thank you. It's wonderful to see you again, Dr. Cullen."

His smile became a little less tentative, "Please, call me Carlisle." He released my hand.

"Of course."

"This is my wife, Esme." He half-turned, placing his free hand on her back.

She stepped forward and carefully extended her hand, "Welcome, Lillie. It's such a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, Esme," When I took her hand, I was somewhat surprised to find it was just a tad warmer than Carlisle's had been – though just as sturdy. Covering up my amazement, I offered a polite compliment, "You have a beautiful home."

Her smile widened, equal parts pride and pleasure, "Thank you, Lillie."

When Edward finally turned toward Alice and Jasper, the impish little vampire was once again bouncing on the balls of her feet. Both Carlisle and Esme cast her censuring looks, but she just continued to squirm.

"Alice, you remember," Edward had barely gotten her name out, when Alice interrupted him.

"Hi, Lillie!" Moving faster than a hummingbird, Alice sprung forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek; her tiny hands claiming my own and giving them a companionable squeeze.

The instant that Alice's cool skin touched mine, something very peculiar happened. For a fleeting second, my eyes ceased to work and, instead, my mind was filled with a snapshot image of … well, something else.

* * *

><p>Several dozen people milled around what appeared to be a baggage claim conveyor belt in an old-style airport terminal. Judging by the odd mix of conservative and modern clothing being worn, the image had to be a flashback from somewhere in the early 1960s.<p>

Two people in the crowd stood out – almost like they were backlit or something. On the right side of the baggage circle, a woman was leaning down to retrieve a suitcase; her long, dark mass of mahogany hair effectively blocking her face from view. Directly across from her stood another woman – this one wearing a calf-length, high-waist, screaming red pencil skirt, a chocolate-hued jacket with large silver buttons over a tucked-in, square-neck, white blouse, and a necklace made of chunky red and orange stones. To top it off, she was wearing oversized black sunglasses, which obscured most of her face, and a red, orange, brown, and white patterned scarf wrapped over her hair and tied beneath her chin.

Other than those two people, nothing of note stood out.

* * *

><p>As quickly as the flashing image had appeared, it was gone.<p>

When Alice pulled back, her expression must have been the mirror of my own – curious befuddlement. But, like that fleeting flashback, it was quickly wiped away to be replaced with something akin to bemusement, "Wow. You _do_ smell nice – I've never noticed before."

I blinked once in shock.

Barely pausing to let that sink in, Alice's expression returned to one of open honesty. "Anyway, we're going to be the best of friends – I just know it."

Every single other person in the room froze, leaving me standing there with my hands being held by the diminutive, effervescent brunette vampire in front of me. Half a second after she's stopped talking, I felt another surge of calm wash over me from Jasper's direction. But it wasn't necessary.

I _probably_ should have been spooked by how carelessly forward Alice was being with me; but I wasn't. In all honesty, I actually felt a bit relieved. Since the moment I'd first laid eyes upon them, I'd had the distinct impression that the rest of the family was actively doing everything they could not to frighten me. It was gratifying to know that she so completely accepted me – to know that she was willing and ready to be herself around me. From the first time I'd seen her prancing out of the school cafeteria – a pocket-sized ballerina in black, willowy clothes – I had credited her with a playful personality. Apparently, I'd been right.

Smirking in a whimsical sort of way, I tightened my fingers around hers in a friendly clasp and leaned forward, placing my cheek against each of her cool ones in turn, "Great to see you again, Alice."

A collective sigh of relief came from the rest of the group as Alice released my hands and turned, expectantly, to the man at her side. Amusement and caution rode Jasper's features as I turned to look at him. Hastily, Jasper's eyes flickered to Edward before settling back on me.

Curiously, I cast a quick look at Edward. He seemed … _tenser_ than before – like he was waiting for something. Well, considering the shock his sister had just given all of us, it wasn't exactly unexpected.

Shaking his head minutely from side to side, Edward motioned toward his blond brother, "Lillie, this is Jasper – you'll remember him from school. Jasper, meet Lillie."

Jasper tucked an arm across his waist and inclined his head and torso toward me a few inches, "It's a pleasure." His voice was as smooth as molasses; a proper, upper-class southern drawl.

I hadn't seen something like that since … well, I'd _never_ seen it in real life. Usually, that sort of thing was the stuff of stories and movies. Not sure what I was expected to do in response – I suppose I _could_ have curtsied – I stuck my right hand out toward him, "Nice to meet you, Jasper."

Again, that shocked, anticipatory silence hung in the air. For half a second, Jasper glanced between me, my hand, and Edward. Then, as though steeling himself, he straightened up and gently grasped my hand.

He blinked, his eyes widening the tiniest bit, when his skin met mine.

The anxious hush ticked up a notch.

Then a half-smile touched the corners of his eyes and mouth and he released my hand, "The pleasure is all mine, Lillie."

The firm pressure of Edward's hands on my shoulders turned me so that I was facing the other way.

"Emmett," the tone of his voice – not to mention the significant pause he made after saying it – made me feel that Edward was cautioning his brother about something.

As my eyes traveled up the towering mass of bone and muscle that was Emmett Cullen, I couldn't help feeling small. When my eyes finally reached his face, I found the sly smirk there a little more than intimidating.

"Hey there, _Lily_." He put an odd emphasis on the last syllable of my name. Without waiting for it, he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.

Suffice to say that everything _attached_ to my arm was also jostled.

"Nnn … nnnice … toooo … mm … meettt … yooou," I managed.

I was beyond grateful, when Edward snatched my hand away from his brother – I was starting to feel like I was suffering from whiplash. Emmett just laughed heartily, giving me an innocently childlike smile.

Another wave of calm - this one so potent that it caused me to physcially sway - came from Jasper. I blinked, feeling a little out of sorts - like my head and body weren't _quite _connected right ...

Since he hadn't hurt me – and he obviously hadn't been trying to – I wasn't angry with the elephantine baby. Still, I might have to have Carlisle or Edward remind him that I wasn't as … _resilient_ as the rest of his family was.

Last, but not least, was Rosalie.

"Rosalie, I'd like for you to meet …," Edward started.

"I _know_ who she is," there was a faintly _acidic_ tone to her voice, and the look she gave Edward would have given Medusa pause.

I swallowed convulsively, "It's nice to finally meet you, Rosalie." I stammered a little on her name and hesitantly extended my hand for her to shake.

She eyed it in a manner that clearly said she thought it might bite, "It's a pleasure – I'm sure." That was it; a handful or words that were spoken in a tone which fully illustrated how _forced_ the sentiment behind them was.

"Rosalie," Carlisle's voice was soft, but the ring of authority in it was unmistakable – he was warning her to be polite.

The flaxen minx simply tossed her hair and sunk back into the seat she'd previously been occupying, her eyes focusing out the nearby window.

"Please," Carlisle's hand swept out to indicate the loveseat behind us – the one farthest from the rest of them and closest to the door. "Won't you sit?"

"Thank you," my voice was definitely on the timid side now. Rose's obvious snubbing of me had reminded me just how … _precarious _my position was.

Edward drew us back to the couch, wrapping one arm protectively around my shoulders and cradling one of my hands in his larger one.

Once we were comfortably situated, the awkward silence descended. Nervously nibbling on my lower lip, I tried to think of something to say. From the looks on Carlisle and Esme's faces, they were too.

For what seemed like several long minutes, nobody said anything. The worst part was the fact that _I_ was the only one fidgeting. Everyone else had fallen into that eerie stillness which screamed of stress.

"So …," Esme's voice was smooth and low.

The snorting sound that came from my right was loud enough to make me jump. Glancing at the source, I saw Emmett's eyes roll exaggeratedly.

"Well, if none of you are gonna say it, _I _will."

My brow drew down in confusion while the butterflies in my stomach practiced their auditions for the Blue Angels.

Emmett leaned forward, his forearms resting casually on his thighs, and gave me a vaguely patronizing look, "You know, you're not very good at this whole _'secret identity' _thing."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed the depth I went to with describing the Cullens' house. I always felt that that was something lacking in the books and I wanted to remedy that - I hope you all approve. I'd love to hear what you guys thought of the chapter!

_Food for Thought:_ What was it that happened in the car between Lillie and Edward - and what made Alice interrupt? And what about that snapshot image that Lillie saw when Alice touched her? Even more importantly, what is it that Emmett is talking about?

**Hope you Enjoyed and PLEASE REVIEW.**

_**Please note that I read and reply to each and every review that I receive. As an author, it really helps me to keep writing when I know that people have an opinion about my work. So, whether you love it, hate it, or are utterly indifferent, I would LOVE to hear about it.**_


	18. Chapter 18: Breaking the Ice

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

_Chapter Summary:_ How will Lillie handle the whole 'meet the parents' scenario she's walked in to? Moreover, what did Emmett's little 'comment' really mean? Read and find out!

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 18:<strong>

The bottom dropped out of my stomach; a uniquely peculiar sensation, considering how tense the rest of my abdomen was. It _almost_ hurt, like part of me had suddenly been ripped away, and I found myself utterly unable to draw in breath.

Had he just said what I thought he'd said?

Every last ounce of my focus was trained on Emmett Cullen's smugly confident expression. In the intermittent silence that fell, I could hear the formerly steady beat of my heart stutter and then pick up speed. My mouth hung open slightly, the muscles of my jaw seemingly turned unresponsive.

Another breeze-like breath of serenity blew through my consciousness, fuzzying my train of thought a bit.

I don't know how I did it, but _somehow_ I managed a retort. My words quivered, the vowels shaking nervously, "E … excuse me?"

His patronizing smirk ticked up a notch, "I _said _that you aren't very good with the whole _'secret identity'_," he made little 'air quotes' with the first two fingers of each hand, "thing."

That's what I thought he'd said.

My mind went into hyper-drive; the thoughts tumbling through it at an unbelievable speed – like they were being powered by the invisible jolt of electricity that I felt had just shocked me to within an inch of my life. My mouth worked silently for a few moments as I tried to come up with a reply – one that _wasn't_ a combination of running, screaming, and/or passing out.

A strange noise – similar to the high-pitched buzzing of agitated bees – started from right beside me. While Edward's body was locked into an immovable position, I could _feel_ the rumble radiating through him. It wasn't something I should have even heard – in an octave slightly higher than _human _ears could register – but I did, and it only added to my panic. I froze, becoming nearly as still as the rest of them; only the erratic pitter-patter of my pulse belying the façade I presented.

Every eye turned to me. I hadn't noticed, until I felt the weight of more piercing gazes, that Carlisle, Edward, and Jasper has been glaring daggers at their burly companion. When they shifted back to me, I felt a panging jerk in my chest as my heart sputtered to a halt for a frightening half-second.

Carlisle's cool, composed form leaned forward, his brows drawing down in the center as his face took on an examining expression. At the same time, I felt Edward's arms tighten around me, protectively.

Something about his touch jostled my temporarily misplaced brain back into place. Blinking once, I scanned the dark-haired vampire whose eyes had never left mine. Now that things were working again, I tried to think fast. His vague statement hadn't given me enough to go on. I wasn't sure what he was eluding to – how much _did_ they know about me?

Shaking my head faintly, I met those glittering golden eyes, "I _heard_ you. I'm just not sure what you mean."

Emmett shook his head, a wry huff of amusement preceding his words, "Sure you do." His hands spread out in an entreating gesture, "You did a right-poor job of picking a name."

I blinked, my head shaking just once – a gesture similar to what a dog does to clear water from it's coat; except I was attempting to shake the completely nonsensical explanation into some semblance of substance.

"What?"

He sniggered, "Come on!" He moved one hand, as though displaying something, "Lilianna." He moved the other hand, "Lillie?"

I continued to blink at him, sure my face looked just as baffled as my head felt.

He rolled his eyes, a distinctly exasperated tone to the action, and repeated his former actions, "Lilianna. Lillie?"

When it _still_ didn't sink in, he scoffed. "If you _really_ wanted to hide, you shouldn't have picked a _fake _name that broke down to your _actual_ name."

_Oh … My … God,_ I couldn't help collapsing my head into my hands, my shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter and my breath hitching sporadically.

Edward, having no _idea_ what was happening, jumped to the conclusion that I was crying. His arms slid smoothly around me as he vehemently reprimanded his brother, "Damnit, Emmett! Can't you stop being an ass for just _one day_?"

Lowering his mouth so that he could whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry, love. He wasn't trying to upset you."

That just made me laugh harder, the warm stream of tears beginning to leak from my eyes.

"Shh, Lillie – it's all right," he cooed softly.

I shook my head, _trying_ to let him know I was fine, but another fit of laughter washed over me before I could get it out. The only words that came through were 'not' and 'okay'.

As I attempted to catch my breath, I heard someone begin to snigger – this one from my left. Considering the deep tenor, I assumed that Jasper had caught onto my uncontrollable mirth.

I felt Edward's head jerk up in that direction, a low sound coming from the back of his throat. His hands began coaxing me back into a sitting position.

Jasper cleared his throat, another chuckle escaping before he could speak, "She's not upset, Edward."

Allowing myself to be pulled upright, my eyes shot to Jasper and I couldn't help giggling aloud – the muscles of my recently-returned stomach beginning to ache.

Edward's face turned back to me, confusion and worry in his eyes. As soon as he saw the tears on my cheeks, the level of confusion amped up.

I raised one of my hands to his face, caressing it softly. "I'm …," try to control another round of sniggers, "fine – really. It's just …." I shook my head is disbelief before turning toward Emmett – who was _still _wearing that playful smirk.

For the first time since I'd seen him, I recognized that his facial features weren't as … _brutal_ as the rest of him appeared. There was a distinctly 'boyish' cast to them – an innocence that seemed out of place, when compared to the starkly 'adult' build of his body.

"How often do _you _change your name, Emmett?" I raised a challenging eyebrow, bemusement still riding heavily on my features.

He shrugged, "Don't really."

I chuckled again, feeling the waves of amusement rolling off Jasper like a welcome breeze, "And why not?"

His facial features adjusted into the equivalent of a nonchalant shrug, "No point. It's not like anyone is going to see us again."

Rolling my eyes exaggeratedly, "But, if you did, what would you change it to?"

"Emily," a sly wink.

I burst into laughter – and I wasn't alone. Jasper doubled over right along with me; little Alice beside him giggling in a high-pitched trill. Even Carlisle and Esme smiled at his stupid quip. Edward let out an exasperated sigh, but I could feel the slight tremors of silent laughter shaking his chest.

When I could breathe again, I looked up and gave Emmett a very, very playful look. "Don't think I won't remember that."

Rosalie scoffed quietly, her brilliant eyes rolling before refocusing on the landscape outside.

I sobered just a bit, clearing my throat and pounding my chest once with a fist to help.

"So …," I looked back at Emmett. "Be _that_ as it may …," I let the phrase trail off in a sniggeringly significant way before continuing. "It was easier for me to pick something close. I _could_ have gone with 'Emily'," Jasper covered a chuckle with a very transparent cough and I smirked, "or 'Amber' or anything else, but I might not have recognized it. It would be just a little weird, if someone called 'Sarah' and I didn't respond."

Emmett was _obviously_ fighting very, _very_ hard not to burst into laughter; his golden eyes practically dancing with mischievous light. "Still, it's a rookie move."

"Fine," I leaned back into Edward's cool embrace. "Next time I have to change my name, I'll ask you for some suggestions."

"Good," and then he lost it, his booming laughter ricocheting around the large room.

Snaking his strong arms around me, Edward nuzzled my hair away from my ear and whispered, "You're amazing, you know that?"

I shrugged and relaxed into the safety of his embrace, my body still occasionally shaking with the remnants of mirth. All things considered, this was a _completely_ ridiculous conversation to be having – given the company _and_ the circumstances. Nevertheless, I couldn't seem to find it in me to sober up. Though, that was probably _entirely _Jasper's fault. Even now I could _feel_ that strange, manipulative energy rolling off of him; washing over me in waves of calm and amusement.

It was an odd sensation, having my mind in one place, while my body was in a completely different one – sort of like being half-conscious. Even _knowing_ that I shouldn't be comfortable here – that I _ought_ to be downright terrified – didn't make a difference in how I was feeling. In fact, it seemed the other way around; my physical emotions had more sway over my state of mind than they should.

That probably should have frightened me. I just couldn't seem to get there ….

"You know I'm going to have to start calling you 'Emily' now, right?" Edward's voice cut through the last of Emmett's raucous laughter, his tone one of utter seriousness.

Emmett's face never lost that rogue-like cast, his eyebrows tweaking up in a challenging way, "And I think I'll have to call _you_ 'Edwina'."

"Boys," Esme's soft voice carried only the faintest trace of chiding.

Jasper snickered again.

Alice leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, "Watch it, Jazz. They'll start calling you 'Jasmine', if you're not careful."

And there went my modicum of self-control. I burst into another fit of giggles, turning my face to bury it in Edward's chest rather than allow my sniggers to echo off the walls.

Talk about an effective 'breaking the ice' tactic.

It was several gasps before I was able to catch my breath – though the sniggers _still_ weren't completely gone. Raising my head enough to place my mouth close to Edward's ear, I managed a breathy whisper, "Think you could ask Jasper to … lay off it a bit? I'm feeling a little … _light headed_."

He squeezed my shoulder once in confirmation. As I lowered my forehead to rest on his shoulder, I felt a soft rumble in his chest; the words indiscernible, though I could faintly _hear_ the sound of his musical voice as he spoke at supernatural speed.

The response was practically immediate. No sooner had the rumbling, humming of his speech stopped than I felt the _blanket_ of amused tranquility begin to pull away. It didn't fall away completely, though. Rather, Jasper eased up enough that my mind was no longer drowning beneath emotions which were not of my own creation. The sensation was similar to recovering from a head injury – a faint disorientation tinging the welcomed return of cognitive consciousness.

With my reclaimed freedom, I was able to bring the exuberant chuckles to a stop. Clearing my throat quietly, I shook my head slightly from side to side before sitting back up and facing Edward's family.

"Apologies," I mumbled, blushing a little in embarrassment. "I seem to have gotten a little carried away."

"Nothing to be sorry for, dear," Esme's soothing tone was _almost_ as potent as Jasper's ability, when it came to relaxing me.

I managed a one-shouldered shrug, before twining my fingers back with Edward's. Now that things were much closer to normal – emotionally speaking, that is – I was nervous once again. Nibbling my lower lip, I cast a swift glance up at the two people sitting opposite from me. Though they were both smiling, I glanced away quickly.

"Edward tells us that you're from France?" Esme's voice was the perfect blend of cordial curiosity.

Maybe it was a product of nerves – or, more likely, the unconscious acknowledgment that I was seated in a room with people my own age for a change – but I found old habits easily resurfacing. My rearing might not have been what one would consider _normal_, but I'd been instilled with manners. In my youth, it had been considered polite to look at someone, when they were speaking to you. And, while I had mastered the aloofly disinterested mannerisms of present-day teenagers, I had done so only as a means of fitting in. It wasn't in my nature to be so discourteous.

"Originally, yes." My eyes rose automatically to meet hers. Not wanting to open the floor to age-related questions, I decided to head the topic off early, "I moved here when I was younger. It's all a bit of a blur, anymore."

"What part?"

"I was born in Marseilles – though I grew up on my family's farm in Châteaurenard, near Avignon."

Emmett chuckled and made an 'ooing' sound, carrying it out to three syllables – the middle one pitched higher than the other two. "Edward's dating the 'farmer's daughter'."

I blushed furiously – that little classification was one I'd heard more than a few times over the last fifteen years or so … – and directed my gaze to the socially adolescent, curly-haired vampire to the right, "Not exactly. My _uncle_ was the farmer – my father was a mariner."

It wasn't until I'd returned my eyes to Esme's face that I realized my slip. _Mariner_ wasn't a common term anymore – nor was the profession particularly familiar these days. Her dark-honeyed brows were turned down just slightly in the center, a hint of stunned confusion in her striking features.

_Stupid!_ I chastised myself, allowing my gaze to fall to my lap.

The room fell into another awkward silence.

When it was finally broken, I wasn't sure whether I'd have preferred it hadn't been. Even before she turned her brassy gaze to me, I felt Edward tense beside me; heard the lowest of sounds leave his lips. But it didn't make a difference.

Rosalie turned her gloriously magnificent face in my direction, derision and smug superiority casting the stunning beauty of her flawless features into something less attractive, "Fine, I've got a question for her."

"Rosalie," Edward's voice was cold as steel, the warning in it crystal clear.

Completely ignoring him, she raised a mocking brow at me, "If you've had such a bad time with _vampires_," she put a _very_ significant emphasis on the word. "Why are you so eager to buddy up with us?"

Edward shot to his feet next to me, a throaty growl emanating from his chest.

"Edward," Carlisle's voice was thick with authority as he held a cautioning hand up toward his son. When Edward didn't move, Carlisle turned his irritated expression on Rosalie – who was _still _looking at me. "Rosalie, that was uncalled for. If you can't be polite …."

"No," my voice was quiet but steady. Rising to my feet, I took a step forward; allowing me to see past Edward's towering form.

Everyone else turned to look at me.

I didn't need the waft of calm that came from Jasper. For a wonder, I was completely composed by myself. Glancing around, purposefully meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, I repeated my statement, "No."

While everyone looked confused – save Rosalie, who was still looking contemptuous, if a little begrudgingly impressed – there were two faces that stood out.

Alice's elfin face wore an expression that looked completely out of place on it. Her brow was furrowed and she had a dissatisfied twist to her lips, like she was upset by what was happening. Considering her usual air of unconcerned confidence, this new expression gave the impression of being blindsided – like she hadn't seen this coming.

The other was Edward. His eyes anxiously darted between Rosalie and me, hurt and anger fighting for dominance within their metallic depths. It was the same on his face, like he was trying to decide whether to feel betrayed or livid.

"Lillie?" Carlisle spoke my name softly.

I cast a quick glance at him, shaking my head once. Then, very carefully, I placed the palm of my hand against Edward's cotton-clad chest while meeting his eyes.

The instant my fingers brushed his shirt, he began to relax; the coiled tension of his muscles easing to a more casual stance.

When he was visibly calm enough for my liking, I spoke quietly; my tone firm and confident, "It's fine."

He grimaced and I shook my head slightly from side to side.

Once I was sure he wasn't going to fly off the handle, I turned my face back to Carlisle, "It's fine."

Then I looked at Rosalie, "It's a reasonable question, after all."

She cocked her flaxen head to one side, her arms crossing over her chest.

Twisting back to face Edward, I flicked my eyes toward the couch behind him, "Please?"

With a sigh, he nodded; dropping himself into the overstuffed cushions without the usual easy grace he normally displayed.

Reluctantly, I allowed him to draw me down to his side; though I resisted his pull enough to stay poised on the edge of my seat. I wasn't particularly looking forward to the coming conversation, but I wasn't really in the mood to beat around the bush any more. It wasn't that I wasn't capable of doing the whole _'polite chitchat'_ thing – I was actually quite good at it, when the situation called for it. However, in this case, the informal _'how-do-you-dos'_ weren't really necessary. These people already knew more about me than my own guardian did. What was the point in pretending they didn't? Overall, it would be better if I could get the whole damned thing out in the open – air my dirty laundry, so to speak. That way we could get to the _nitty-gritty_ sooner.

Taking a deep breath, I met the eyes of my biggest critic – the one member of Edward's family who was openly hostile. All things considered, I didn't understand Rosalie's animosity. We weren't competition, nor was I trying to undermine her position within her family. However, for as different as we were physically, we _did_ have one thing in common – we had secrets.

"Have you ever had a secret you couldn't tell _anyone_ – one you kept from even your closest friends and family?"

A flash of pain lit the matte gold of her eyes and I knew she understood what I was talking about, though she elected to not answer the question.

"I do," I waited until my voice wouldn't shake before I continued. "I've kept those kinds of secrets all my life – ever since I was old enough to understand that they _needed_ to be kept." I broke eye contact, looking down at my hands as they nervously smoothed invisible wrinkles from my denim-clad lap.

"I've never known what it felt like to be _normal_ – I know how melodramatic that sounds; every teenager feels that way, like no one in the world could possibly relate to them."

I shook my head absently, "But I'm not like other teenagers – I'm not really like other people, period. I never have been …."

For several long moments I sat there, trying to decide how to say what needed to be said.

"My aunt and uncle were quiet people, pious and hardworking; but it wasn't easy for them to raise me. They already had one son and another on the way, when my father showed up with me. I don't know what he told them – or why he left me with them in the first place; my aunt would never say. So, I don't know whether she knew what she was getting her family into or not ….

"What I _do_ know is that it didn't take them long to realize there was something different about me."

Edward's cool hand slid gently over mine, a silent show of support, and I squeezed it once in thanks.

Squaring my shoulders, I looked back up at Rosalie.

"My … _abilities_ aren't something I'm comfortable speaking about. Growing up, there was sort of an … unspoken rule about not breaching the topic. I can only remember that rule being broken twice; both times by my aunt. I was … three or four, when my aunt tried to explain that I was _'special' – _that other people couldn't do the things I could do. She tried to be kind, to keep from scaring me; but it was the first time I could remember understanding that there was something _wrong_ with me. The last time was …," I swallowed the word _'sixteen'_, forcing myself to keep the timeline ambiguous. "The last time was after I lashed out and hurt my cousin Ames."

Closing my eyes briefly, I took a deep breath and redirected the story back onto the proper avenue, "Until the accident, whenever something would move on its own or a door would slam … everyone would act like it didn't happen – like they couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. As I got older, I gained better control over myself and the _episodes_ got fewer and fewer."

My words trailed off to a quiet whisper and a confession I hadn't intended to make slipped out, "I didn't have the heart to tell them how hard I had to work to keep it bottled up …."

Immediately, I dropped my gaze to my lap; biting my unruly tongue in retribution. Why had I told them that? It wasn't relevant to the story. Moreover, it was something deeply personal – something I hadn't admitted to anyone else before.

When I couldn't find it in myself to be justifiably mortified by my slip, I realized it was because I was still feeling too _comfortable_ here. This wasn't a topic I should feel comfortable discussing. Maybe it wasn't necessary to be depressed, but the subject deserved at least some level of remorse. After all, my weakness had ultimately led to my family's deaths ….

Waiting until I had the right words, I rotated my head minutely in Jasper's direction, "Could you please stop it?" Risking a peek up at his face, I tried to keep my tone even, undemanding. "I'd like to decide for myself how I'm feeling."

Chagrin flashed behind the gold of his eyes and I immediately felt anxiety and sadness begin to seep back into my head.

"Thank you," I turned back to Rosalie.

"I've kept that part of myself a secret from everyone – not even my family knew everything I could do. And, ever since they died …," I drew in a shaky breath through my nose as I tried _not_ to hear the oft-replayed screams of that night. "I haven't had anyone I _could_ tell about it."

I let the words hang in the air for a few heartbeats before I continued, wanting the significance of them to sink in.

"So I know what it's like to have a secret you _can't _share. Even if someone believed me, what would they do to someone who can do the things I can do? I'd spend the rest of my life locked in some sort of … _facility_; being poked and prodded and tested so that they could figure out _how_ I can do what I do. And I can't do that – not after …."

Edward's hand tightened on mine and I finally realized that I was shaking. His other arm wound itself around my shoulders, pulling me close to his side.

Closing my eyes, I sank into Edward's stone embrace; seeking the solace and strength I needed to force the unwelcome thoughts to an end. I would _not_ think about Italy right now, _I would NOT_.

It took a few minutes before I was capable of speaking again. All the while, Edward softly hummed an unknown tune in my ears – something hauntingly sweet and soothing.

Carefully selecting my words, I continued, "But _my_ secrets aren't the only ones I've been forced to keep."

Looking up, I could see the hard lines of Rosalie's face had softened; a faintly flickering light of sadness lighting the gold of her eyes.

"Ever since …," shaking my head, I skipped forward; sure they'd connect the unspoken dots. "I learned things I was _never_ meant to know – things I didn't have any _desire_ to know. And, when I finally got away, I didn't have anywhere to turn. My family was gone and I didn't know anyone," I sighed. Even if I'd had somewhere to go, how could I have explained … _anything_? My injuries – bad as they were – were the _least_ of my concerns. The bigger issue would have been … well, _me_. How do you explain that you haven't aged a single day in over forty years? You don't.

Slowly, I met the gazes of the six people sitting opposite me; carefully keeping myself from analyzing their expressions. I didn't want to know what they thought of my little sob story – I hadn't told them to get their pity. I'd done it because it needed to be said.

"To answer your question, Rosalie," I returned my eyes to hers. "I'm not really 'eager to buddy up' with all of you. I don't think you have any idea how …," I tried to think of a nice way to put _'terrified'_. When I couldn't find something fitting, I switched tactics, "Strange this is for me – and I can't really explain it adequately."

I broke contact with Rose, flicking my gaze to meet Carlisle's, "But I love Edward, so I _am_ willing to _try _to get to know you all – to have you get to know me."

For the first time in minutes, I allowed myself to analyze someone's expression. He was still sympathetic, though hints of an unspoken camaraderie were visible as well. The most comforting thing about his expression was the lack of pity. Somehow, the warm-golden hue of his eyes conveyed an unexpected level of understanding – like he knew _exactly_ how difficult, how lonely my life had been before meeting his son.

"Thank you," he offered a genuine smile; the effect marred only by the faintest tinge of sadness. "We _all_," I _almost_ missed the look he shot at Rosalie, it was so fleeting, "understand how difficult this must be for you, given your past experiences with our kind. It means a lot to us that you've come here today – that you've given us this chance to meet you."

From his words and tone, it was obvious that Carlisle thought me brave. Considering how _nervous_ I was, sitting here in the Cullens' living room, I couldn't see myself as courageous. No, I was just too damned stubborn for my own good ….

* * *

><p>So we talked. For a while, we stuck to the easy topics – the safe ones; like the mundane facts of my life since 'the attack'. Esme and Carlisle spearheaded a majority of these subjects; the looks on their faces – and the emotions glittering behind the metallic luminescence of their eyes – weighing heavily of weariness, of careful footing. We spoke of my life in LA and of my few months with Julia. I answered these questions honestly, having nothing to hide from these most-recent time periods.<p>

After a short time, it became apparent that each of them had separate agendas they were attempting to fulfill, different information they were trying to gather. Esme's questions angled in a motherly direction, seeking a polite way to determine how I was coping with my losses – with my unwanted knowledge. Of the two, she seemed more concerned with my emotional well-being – though Carlisle was in no way dismissive of this information. Rather, his questions didn't exactly lead in an obvious direction; but seemed, instead, to encompass a much broader spectrum.

In the beginning, I thought he might have been interested in the purely physical repercussions from my encounter with vampires. He asked a few questions about changes I'd noticed – differences in strength, speed, senses, sleeping patterns. Later, though, he shifted his focus down a more _open-ended_ approach. As his wife slowly began to delve into the murky abyss of my life _before_, his inquiries seemed to wander off in a less _relevant_ direction.

"Do you feel comfortable discussing your family?" Carlisle's voice was neutral, politely curious.

My automatic response was to say 'no' – just as it had been with Edward yesterday. However, considering how much I'd already revealed, refusing to answer a few more questions seemed ridiculous.

"I can try," I shot Edward a quick glance, trying to read what he thought in the lines of his face and the color of his eyes.

There was a tenseness behind the outward _calm_ of his expression as he met my eyes, but it was too well shielded for me to dissect its cause. He didn't look overly concerned, though, so I figured whatever was on Carlisle's mind wasn't something I needed to be too worried about.

"Was your aunt your mother's or your father's sister?"

"My father's," it seemed an odd question to ask but I didn't allow it to bother me. What difference did it make? Family was family.

"You said your aunt and uncle had children?"

I nodded, "Four boys – though three of them were younger than I."

"Your uncle was a farmer?"

Again, I nodded.

"What did he grow?"

I tried not to let my confusion register on my face. Why was Carlisle asking about my family's agricultural preferences? I mean, I got the point of _small talk_ and all, but it simply seemed a little irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

"Mostly wheat and barley – but we grew most of our own vegetables and fruits, too."

"What about when you came here – did your uncle still farm?"

My grip on the chilly glass of water in my hand tightened; my fingers slipping _squeakily_ over the condensation clinging to its surface. After my candid, little _'woe-is-me' _answer to Rosalie's barbed inquiry, Alice had excused herself and come back with the beverage, unasked. I'd accepted it gratefully; having found the unspoken concern touching. Now, though, the transparent cubes inside _clinked_ loudly against the glass as my hand shook ever so slightly; providing an audible dialogue to the nervous twisting of my stomach.

How to answer without lying? Considering that my family had never seen America, almost anything I could say _would_ be a fabrication – even as little as a simple 'yes' or 'no'. However, it would seem a bit … _peculiar_, if I chose not to answer such an innocently irrelevant question.

Lifting my glass for another sip, I worked on phrasing, "He farmed his whole life – it was something he knew very well." _It was the _only _thing he knew very well …._

Carlisle paused for a fleeting moment and I realized that he had found my choice of words interesting.

"And your aunt – what did she do?"

"She raised us," the smile that spread across my lips was bittersweet.

In the early 1900s, there really wasn't much else a woman _could _do. Even had she been trained to work outside the house, it wouldn't have been possible. Running a seven-person household was a full time job, in and of itself. Throw a _gifted_ child into the mix and it became something all together different – a task requiring extensive patience, understanding, and sacrifice. Even at one-hundred and nine years old, I _still_ couldn't fathom how she did it.

He smiled warmly, encouragingly. "Were you close?"

I lifted one shoulder in a sort of half-shrug, "As close as we could be, I guess. She loved me and protected me and …." I breathed deeply, trying to work around the throb of pain twinging around the edges of my invisible wound.

"I'm sorry," his apology was sincere and I heard something in his voice that I hadn't picked up on before. The echo of remembered loss.

Shaking my head, I attempted a smirk, "It's fine."

Once that kettle of fish had been opened, it was only a matter of time before my _real_ parents were brought up. Surprisingly, it wasn't Esme who breached the topic; though she'd been the one asking a majority of the family-related questions over the last hour. Instead, Carlisle stepped in; his oddly aimed inquiries once again making me feel like I was _missing_ some important subtext.

"What do you know about your parents?"

I shifted positions, crossing my left leg over my right and leaning against the arm of the loveseat rather than against Edward's side, "Not much." _Not enough, _I added silently.

"What little I _do_ know about them I heard second-hand – from my aunt. She never really knew my mother – they'd met only a handful of times before I was born. And, after that, well …," my lips twisted into an uncomfortable frown. "She wasn't around anymore."

Carlisle nodded once, his expression somber, "Do you know her name?"

"Claudia – it's my middle name, as well," I heard Edward make a quiet noise of acknowledgment. "I look like her – at least, that's what my aunt always told me. The same eyes, face – even our hair is the same color," I smiled a little. When I was growing up, it had been a comfort to know that I so closely resembled her. It had made me feel connected, in a concrete, irrefutable way, to the woman I had never known.

I tried _not_ to wonder what she would have thought of me now, if she could have seen me. How she would have felt about the unnatural way her beauty had been carried on through me.

Forcing the dark thoughts away, I swallowed the lump in my throat and refocused on Carlisle's face.

He appeared contemplative – like he was forming some kind of _list_ inside his head.

After a half-second, he spoke. "What about your father – did you inherit anything from him?"

His attempt at innocent nonchalance fell _just_ short of the mark and I immediately caught his deeper meaning. He wanted to know if my _quirks_ came from my father.

Closing my eyes, I took a long second to breathe; reminding myself that the Cullens already _knew_ about this. There was no need to panic.

"What my aunt remembered most about my father were snippets from his childhood. But, from what I gathered, my father never showed any signs of possessing the kinds of … _abilities_ I was born with. As such, it was just assumed that I had inherited them from my mother."

Come to think of it – and I _hadn't_ in a very, very long time – I hadn't really inherited much of _anything_ from my father. According to the stories I'd been told, our personalities weren't even very much alike. There was the stubbornness, but that just as easily could have come from my mother, as well. So, in a very two-dimensional way, the only thing I'd ever received from my father was superficial – his last name: Desmarais.

"Your mother must have been quite an extraordinary woman," again, Carlisle's mind seemed to be preoccupied.

I flushed, slightly uncomfortable with the implied compliment.

Carlisle fell silent and I allowed my eyes to drift back to my lap, where my fingers were absently tracing the back of Edward's hand; the feel of his skin soothing, comforting – much like the velvet quality of his voice or the unique cologne of his skin and breath.

"Can I ask something?"

I looked up to find Alice's eyes trained on me, their shimmering depths catching the light from the windows and sparkling in a way reminiscent of diamonds. While the confident air I was more accustomed to had returned to her fey-like features, there were still traces of the uncomfortable confusion I'd previously seen in her gaze.

For a fleeting second, I wondered why she would bother herself with asking something – let alone _permission_ to ask it. Of all the members of the family, she would be the one most likely to already _know_ how I would respond to an inquiry – both emotionally _and_ verbally.

"Of course," I scanned the glimmering gold of her eyes, trying to read something deeper into her reasoning.

When I couldn't decipher anything there, I figured that I was simply being more paranoid than was warranted. After all, not _everyone_ had the ability to see the future. Perhaps she was asking as a courtesy for the ungifted members of her family.

"What can you _do_, exactly?"

My immediate reaction to such a personal – and _taboo_ – topic was to freeze. For an impossibly long half-second, my mind locked down and base instinct took over. In that brief time before logic, reason, and practicality kicked in, the automatic denials churned away inside my head. Even _knowing_ that I had already admitted to their existence, survival instinct demanded that I renounce any knowledge of what she was talking about.

The tension I felt scorching its way across my limbs tightened the muscles of my hand around Edward's; especially when I realized that I had the undivided attention of _everyone_ in the room.

For over an hour, Rosalie had directed her concentration out the window. After our little … _exchange_, I wasn't sure if her reticence was still the product of her dislike for me or whether it had more to do with Carlisle's reprimand – and _my_ honesty. In all that time, she hadn't acted as though she were even _remotely_ interested in the 'q-and-a' session taking place around her. Now, though, her eyes were fixed on me; their yellow depths no longer flat and lifeless. Instead, there was a strange, unrecognizable emotion glinting there. It was the first time I'd seen her look anything other than bored or mocking, and the effect was stunning.

Since the very first time I'd seen her, I had already known that Rosalie was one of the most beautiful, most perfect women I had ever seen. Even the overt disinterest and hostility that had twisted her flawless features hadn't been capable of robbing her of her magnificence. But now, without those harsh emotions marring her beauty, she looked even _more_ like a personification of Aphrodite.

And I found it a little difficult to pull my eyes away from her face; like I was trying to turn away from something both miraculous and rare. Before now, I would have been willing to wager every cent I had – which wasn't much, granted – that she was nothing more than shallowly superficial; tenacious, as Edward had put it. But seeing her like this, with that peculiar light lending an unfamiliar _life_ to her face, I began to think that there was more to Rosalie than I'd yet been privy to – perhaps more to her than _anyone_ had ever seen. Like I'd caught a glimpse behind a mask she carefully crafted and maintained ….

"Lillie?" Edward's voice was soft, whispered close to my ear.

I blinked, using his words as an anchor to pull me back into the moment. There would be plenty of time later for me to muse over my unexpected glimpse into Rosalie's _humanity _– and the consequences thereof.

Casting a quick look around the room, I felt my stomach clench still tighter as I tried to decide what I _should_ or _shouldn't_ say to Alice. Though they were trying to be politely neutral, I could see the intensity shimmering in the eyes of those around me. While they'd been listening over the course of the last hour, Jasper, Alice, and Emmett hadn't seemed particularly … _invested_ in the questions their parents had been asking. But I had their undivided attention, now.

That bothered me a little – the fact they were more interested in _what_ I could do rather than in _who_ I was – but I had to admit that it wasn't all together unreasonable. After all, had I not questioned Edward _profusely_ over the specifics of his ability and species, when we'd first broached the topic? How could I blame his siblings for wanting to know more about the _one thing_ they knew made me exceptional?

"I … I'm …," I stuttered. It wasn't that I was trying to stall – well, not _really_. I just found that it wasn't very easy for me to simply _talk_. After decades and decades of hiding who I was, opening up to a group of complete strangers was a bit of a daunting process. Though, that wasn't _entirely_ responsible for my hesitance.

True, I'd already admitted to the telekinesis – if that's _really_ what it was, when I moved things without touching them. But the sporadic telepathy … it was something that I had a hard time acknowledging even to myself. Possibly it was because it happened so rarely – at least until I'd come here …. Then again, it might have a little more to do with the fact that I'd been hiding _that quirk_ longer than the other.

Growing up, I'd learned fast that people _really_ didn't like the idea of having someone else hear their private thoughts. So, by five or six, I'd started _pretending_ that I couldn't hear anything more than what I was supposed to hear; stopped answering unasked questions and commenting on the things I heard. And, eventually, I _did_ stop hearing them. Well, until I lost control of my other ability ….

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," Edward whispered into my ear; just loud enough for me to hear it.

For a short second, I considered taking the offer – I _still_ wasn't comfortable discussing this subject with Edward, let alone his family. But after another moment, I shook my head and sighed. If ever there were people I could talk to about this, who would _believe_ me and could sympathize with and understand what I was going through, it was the Cullens.

Taking another quick sip of water, I squared my shoulders; ready to answer. But I wasn't nearly as bold as I thought. At the last moment, just before I spoke, my eyes fell to my lap. Even knowing that almost half of their family members possessed extra abilities – and, therefore, would be unlikely to judge me – I felt self-conscious.

"I'm telekinetic – at least I _think_ I am," I shifted uncomfortably and snuck a peek up at Edward.

He smiled reassuringly and gently touched his forehead to mine.

Looking back at my lap, I continued.

"Things … _move_, whenever I'm upset or scared. I can't control it, though," my eyes swept up to Carlisle's face for a brief moment before I dropped them once again. "I never could. It just …_happens_." I fell silent, feeling very ill at ease with the whole situation.

"What kinds of things move?" Carlisle asked softly.

Carefully twirling the slick glass of water between my palms, I offered a few examples. "Little things, mostly. I've knocked over shelves, slammed doors, made pictures fall off the walls – things like that."

"What's the biggest thing you've ever moved?"

I gulped, feeling the butterflies in my stomach come back to life, "Tyler Crowley's van …."

Carlisle shot a quick look at Edward and I tried _not_ to cringe away from his side. I hadn't had the opportunity to check stories with him before now, and I hoped I hadn't gotten him in some kind of trouble.

"The van stopped a lot sooner than it should have," Edward confirmed, no hint of irritation or chagrin in his voice.

I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he didn't seem put out by my revelation.

"Anything else?" Alice's voice was quiet, gently prodding – though in a way that, somehow, seemed undemanding.

"Well …," I shifted again, this time adjusting myself such that I pulled out of Edward's grasp; not certain how he'd respond to this next confession …. "I _hear_ things, sometimes."

Nobody said anything for a few heartbeats, and I began to wonder whether I'd just stuck my foot in my mouth. I _longed_ to glance up to see the look on Edward's face, to prove to my cynical side that he _wasn't_ revolted by what I'd said. But I couldn't do it, afraid I might see disgust there instead.

"What sort of things do you hear?" My shoulders sagged dejectedly at the tone of Carlisle's voice – clinical, very _Psychologist-esque_. It was the same tone I would expect any medical professional had when diagnosing a mentally ill patient.

"Not like that," I looked up, forcing myself to meet his eyes. I needed him to understand this. Having Edward's father convinced I was suffering from some kind of psychosis wasn't a good thing – and not just in regards to my relationship with his son.

"I'm not crazy – I don't hear disembodied voices in my head telling me to do things. I just …." I sighed, not really wanting to _say_ the words.

Shooting a glance at Alice, I found her expression encouraging; and I figured that she knew _exactly _what I was going to say. So, with a resigned sigh and a nervously nibbled lip, I returned my gaze to the doctor seated across from me; purposefully avoiding the golden eyes of the boy next to me. "Sometimes I can hear what people are thinking."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed. I'm already working on the next chapter, but it will likely take me a few weeks to get it written (lots and lots to cover). I'd love to hear what you thought so **Please Review** and have a great week!


	19. Chapter 19: Time And Time Again

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight _**- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight _**or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to wholeheartedly apologize to you all for taking so long to get this chapter out. I've been on travel for work and spending the rest of my time writing a 50+ page User's Manual. So, suffice to say, I was a little _'written out'_ from that. However, I'm going to strive to get the next chapter out sooner.

I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

_Chapter Summary:__ Now that the cat is out of the bag – well … the _kitten_, anyway – what are the Cullens' reactions? More importantly, what is _Edward's_ reaction to finding out his love interest might also be telepathic? Read and find out._

_MINOR WARNING:__ The last flashback of this chapter is VERY DARK. It's also quite physically violent. So, for those of you who don't react well to that sort of stuff, feel free to PM me for a shorter, non-violent summary of what happened - as it's a rather important flashback._

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

(Those who review will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it is posted on FFn – just a little incentive).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19:<strong>

I sat there, eyes closed and face buried in my hands, with the pads of my thumbs gently rubbing small circles into the tense skin over my temples; _trying_ to focus on my breathing. The trouble was, it wasn't working. Now, if I were being _completely_ honest with myself, it hadn't gone over that badly. But, then again, it had been bad enough ….

It wasn't like the Cullens had reacted badly. In fact, they hadn't said a single word – I hadn't given them the chance. No, it hadn't been anything they'd said. It had been the way they had looked at me – like I'd suddenly sprouted a second head or, worse, admitted to being a puppy-kicking Neo-Nazi-Communist. Those expressions of shocked understanding had been too close to one I'd seen before; managing to dredge up long-forgotten memories I'd have rather stayed buried ….

* * *

><p>It was the winter of 1906, a few days shy of the new year. So near to the Mediterranean, we didn't see the snowfall and frigid temperatures of the north. Even so, there wasn't much work to be done outside during the cold season. Which was why everyone was inside – a rare enough occasion, in and of itself. Normally, Uncle Francois busied himself elsewhere until sunset; often taking Philippe – fourteen months my elder – with him and leaving Aunt Marie to deal with me and Jacques – three months younger than I.<p>

The day had started out like many others before it and wouldn't have been noteworthy in the least, had I just kept my mouth shut ….

The previous day, Jacques and I had had a spat; resulting in one of the braces for a shelf in the kitchen breaking. It was why all of us were in the same room together. On any given day, I was only in the room with Uncle Francois once – at supper time. But, today, Aunt Marie was baking. And where Marie went, I went.

I was kneeling on one of the benches around the table, kneading a tiny blob of dough with my pudgy little hands as she worked on the actual bread we would be eating with dinner. The two boys were on the other side of the room, attempting to help their father hang a new brace for the wayward shelf.

Since the previous evening, I'd been hearing the angry thoughts of my uncle roil round and round inside his head, almost every single one of them directed toward me. All in all, I was used to hearing those sorts of comments from him, that was how I'd always known that he considered me unwelcome. This morning they were worse, though, as he worked to repair yet _another_ thing that I'd broken with my 'cursedness'.

I can no longer remember _why_ I'd suddenly decided to ask Aunt Marie what the things Uncle Francois thought meant – probably just one of those unfettered whims of childhood – but, suffice to say, it had been a _bad _idea. I _can_ remember that I'd tried to be quiet about it ….

"Tata?" I'd stopped working the sticky dough in my hands and looked up at her.

"Yes?" She didn't stop working, but cast me a quick look to let me know she was listening.

"What does 'cursed' mean?"

She paused and looked at me, her hands no longer kneading the dough in front of her, "Where did you hear that word?"

"Oncle says that I'm cursed," I _tried_ to whisper but, like most children that age, I didn't quite have the skill yet. Not that it would have mattered; Uncle Francois had fallen suspiciously still the moment I'd asked the question.

"Francois!" Marie's voice was chastising as she looked across the room at her husband.

But her rebuke was drowned out by my uncle's bellow of anger as he turned to glare daggers at me, "I've never said anything of the kind, you lying little brat!" Dropping the hammer onto the nearby counter, he advanced toward me; hatred and anger burning in the brown of his eyes.

I squeaked in fear and dropped the dough I was holding onto the floor, as I retreated back behind my aunt's skirts.

"Francois!" Her hand came down to press me into the linen folds I was cowering behind, the tone of her voice one of warning.

He paused in his advance, his eyes flickering away from me to my aunt's face, "She's a lying little brat, Marie!"

"Where else would she have heard such things, Francois?" With her other flour-caked hand she pointed toward the front door, "She doesn't leave the house!"

He glared back at me and I tried to meld myself to my aunt's leg, even the boys had pressed themselves against the opposite wall to escape their father's wrath.

"I've never said anything like that to her!" He thrust an accusatory finger at me.

I peeked out from behind the green cloth I was hiding behind, "You said I was a cursed devil's child!" I pointed toward the wall where he had been hanging the shelf, "Over there – I _heard_ it!" I was scared but I didn't want Aunt Marie to think I was lying to her. Besides, I _had_ heard him say it. I was simply too young to understand that it hadn't been said aloud ….

My uncle's face blanched, "I didn't say it!" His words were little more than a hoarse whisper and he took a step back from me.

I looked up into my aunt's eyes, which were dark with worry and confusion, "But I _heard_ it, Tata!"

"I didn't …!" Uncle Francois was still backing up, his calves knocking against the wooden bench I'd been kneeling on.

It took only a few seconds for both my aunt and uncle to understand what was going on. Her face softened and a look I would come to recognize as sympathy filled her eyes.

Uncle Francois, on the other hand, tripped over the bench he was backing into, drawing my eyes back to him. When he landed on the wooden floor with an _'oomph'_, he crossed himself; the look on his face a combination of horror and shocked understanding.

* * *

><p>A look that had been too similar to those on the Cullens' faces for me to sit there on the receiving end of it. For a painful half-second, I felt my heart sink; dropping somewhere into the fluttering abyss that was now my abdomen.<p>

"Excuse me," my plea was breathy as I came to my feet and quickly moved away from the seating area, angling myself toward the nearest door.

I'd made it as far as the back door, my right hand resting on the brass handle, before something changed.

"Wait," Edward's voice was soft as his hand gently grasped my right arm.

I shook my head, tears stinging the corners of my eyes as the unwelcome memory began to play, translucently, before them. I couldn't make myself look at him; desperately unwilling to see the same expression on his face as I'd seen on those of his family. Carefully avoiding his eyes, I pulled my arm from his grasp, "I need a minute. _Please!_"

* * *

><p>That's why I was sitting out here, beneath the white-washed, rose-enshrouded ceiling of the Thomas Kinkade-like gazebo in the northern portion of the Cullens' back yard. I'd retreated to this little sanctuary about fifteen minutes ago, seeking the comfort of solitude to bring my emotions under control.<p>

No, this _'Great Reveal'_ had been leaps and bounds better than the last time. Though, truth be told, _my_ reaction hadn't been all that different.

For the first time since I'd sunk down onto the top step of the gazebo, I raised my head and looked around. In my fervent flight to get away from the house, I had overlooked the manicured beauty of the back yard. The same kaleidoscope of colors from the front of the house was echoed back here. But, unlike the entrance, the backside of the house didn't conform to the same strictly-period façade.

As I'd seen from the inside, the entire breadth of the first floor of the original building was made up of glass. The walls of the two upper floors weren't quite so open. Each of the ten windows had been expanded to twice their original width and height; the only hint of colonial styling from the front maintained in their shuttered design.

And, now that I was actually _looking_, I noticed that the white-latticed structure I was in wasn't the only construction back here.

Across the lawn, on the side nearest the one-story addition, another short building stood some twenty feet south-west of the main house; this one built of bricks painted the same off-white color and vaguely resembling a large tool shed – if a tool shed were normally designed to have a large glass skylight centered in the pitched roof of charcoal shingles and a set of ebony-stained, French-style double doors as an entrance. The structure was angled such that the doorway faced north-west across the property; both the gazebo and the Calawah River visible through the glinting glass. A dogwood tree shaded the tiny shelter from the west while a narrow path of grey cobblestones ran eastward from the double doors to the back of the addition.

Beyond that, further west and closer to the banks of the river, was another structure; this one almost as impressive as the house itself. I'd only ever seen its like once in my life – situated amongst the verdant lawns of an English estate in Sussex. The lower half of the walls were constructed of smooth, grey river rocks – probably taken from the bed of the nearby Calawah – and broken only once by the shimmering brilliance of a solid-glass door. From the top edge of that wall sprouted metal supports which glinted pristine white in the sun, arching elegantly upward to a point, like the fabric of an Arabian tent. Sandwiched between those braces were sheets of glass, smoothly flowing along the contours of the design like water.

Even from this distance, I could admire the craftsmanship that had been employed in building it. Though, I couldn't imagine _why_ someone who lived up here, in this dank corner of the world, would have a use for a Victorian Greenhouse. But, then again, I wasn't an expert on gardening. I enjoyed the novelty and beauty that arranged flowers and the like provided, but I hadn't ever been very good at either designing or growing them, myself.

Overall, it was a pretty effect; the grassy lawn having been left to naturally roll and dip towards the stony banks of the broad river. Like the front, there were a number of large trees, mostly cedars and dogwoods, casting swaths of deep shade across the surrounding landscape. The smell, though, was a little fruitier – complementary traces of wild blackberry, strawberry, and cranberry joining the tarty undertone of crabapple and tied together by the sweetly citrus aroma of mock orange.

Drawing my eyes back toward the crystalline glimmer of the first floor windows, I tried to decide what I should do now. Part of me – the stubborn, willful part – demanded that I get up off this step, march my worthless hide back inside, and finish the day as planned. The other part absently wondered how long it would take me to hike home from here – wherever _here_ was …. Surely I could semi-follow the dirt path back to the road and, from there, back to Julia's. The drive hadn't been all _that_ long … had it?

Shaking myself in an attempt to dislodge the cowardly thought, I leaned backwards; resting the back of my head against the warm, wooden floor behind me and staring up at the whitewashed ceiling. I wasn't going to just _leave_, no matter how much I'd already managed to embarrass myself, and I'd done a pretty good job of it so far; what with that whole 'run for the hills' impersonation I'd just enacted. Embarrassment was a part of life – a rather large, unwelcome part, but a part nonetheless. Plus, a little humiliation _now_ was better than the absolute mortification I would have experienced later, had something … _odd_ slipped up.

Yes, it was better that they knew – particularly Edward. But that didn't mean I had to _enjoy_ seeing that moment of shocked understanding; that split second when the safe, little veil of confusion and disbelief gets shredded to pieces by the truth. I doubted that was something I'd ever get used to seeing – not that I'd had many occasions before now to watch it sink in. Not that I planned on _having_ many more conversations like the one today, anyway.

Sighing inwardly, I heaved myself up onto my elbows; skeptically eyeing the back windows once more. The decision was made – probably had been before I'd even been aware of the options, knowing me. Running away was something I was _used_ to doing – kind of came with the whole 'never aging' thing. Like it or not – and I _didn't_ – fleeing the inevitable was sort of a way of life for me. It always would be. Perhaps that was why I was always so stubborn about everything else. When survival gave you no choice _but_ to run, you tended to stand your ground whenever you could – or, at least I did.

From the corner of my eye, I saw movement by the overly-glorified tool shed. Flicking my eyes in that direction, I could make out the shape of someone standing beneath the low-hanging branches of the dogwood tree I'd noticed earlier. Recognition was immediate – in truth, I'd been expecting him to show up at any time. That was probably why I hadn't been frightened by the motion, in the first place.

Edward leaned casually against the slender tree trunk, bathed in the deep shadows of the flowering branches; his arms crossed over his grey-clad chest and one leg propped up, shoe sole pressed flat against the bark. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in his pose; almost _read_ the worried expression on his face. I had scared him.

Frowning, I drew myself to my feet and angled toward him. When I'd fled like that, I hadn't given a moment's thought to how he might interpret my actions. I'd simply been anxious to get out. Now, though, watching him as I approached, I had the chance to think about what I'd done. And, the truth was, it wasn't pretty.

Not only had I revealed things about myself to his family _before_ I'd told him about them, but I'd also refused him the opportunity to react. Instead, of having _faith_ in his acceptance – his pronounced feelings for me – I'd been so afraid that he would condemn me for what I was – what I could _do_ – that I'd treated him as though he'd done so. I was such a hypocrite. There I was, _lecturing him_ about the difference between _faith_ and _trust_, and I'd abandoned the whole concept the first chance I got. If he were angry with me, I'd deserve every last ounce of it.

He didn't move as I approached, his lounging form resembling an artfully _ironic_ representation – _Stone in Repose_, or something similarly oxymoronic; but he watched me – the whole time. From the instant I stood, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. It was an oddly _magnetic_ feeling – both attracting and repelling at the same time. The nearer I drew to him, the more _forceful_ his presence became – like he was torn; part of him wanting me to come to him, part of him wanting me to stay away. The sensation was both baffling and intriguing; mostly because it was an actual _sensation_. I could _feel_ it – the desire to be near him, the drive to run away. The strangest part of it was how _familiar_ that indecision felt – I'd known it for months, now. I'd been struggling to reconcile those two opposing desires ever since I'd first met Edward. But to experience it like this – as though it were rolling off of him in waves – was completely new to me. It felt like … _gravity_ – like we were two planets locked together in orbit; forever pushing each other away, forever holding on for dear life.

I had to force that train of thought to an end by the time I stepped onto the grey cobblestone path in front of the elaborate shed. There were just too many questions that went along with it for me to entertain now.

Stopping at the edge of the path, several feet away from the closest blooming branch of the tree he was under, I nibbled my lower lip as I tried to ferret out his thoughts from beneath the neutral mask he was wearing. Likewise, his eyes scanned my face – looking for what, I didn't know. All in all, the venture wasn't particularly fruitful. The only thing I could read – and it had been obvious since before I'd been able to see his face – was the tense worry.

For several long seconds we both stood there in silence, watching each other. It took me that long to realize that he wasn't planning to speak before I did. All things considered, it was a reasonable thing for him to do – I _had_ been the one to mess up, after all.

So, swallowing my pride, I took a deep breath and apologized, "I'm sorry."

He blinked, the inner corner of his eyebrows drawing down in the center as I continued.

"I shouldn't have run off like that – it was rude of me." In the end, I broke eye contact; electing to stare at a tiny, white dogwood blossom on the ground in front of me.

When he didn't say anything, I started to blather, "I didn't mean to upset you – it's just …. I'm not used to telling people that and, well …."

"I'm not upset with you," his voice was soft and smooth; the same tone he'd used before, when asking me if I'd liked the house.

My eyes drew up to him automatically, "You're not?"

He shook his head.

I blinked, staring into his eyes and trying to understand _why not_; but his expression kept that neutral emptiness – even his eyes managing to look _flatter_ than usual. His declaration made no sense to me. Had I been in his shoes, _I_ would have been at least a _little_ upset.

My brow furrowed as I flickered my gaze between each of those amber orbs, fumbling to do something I'd never really tried before – attempting to grab hold of that mysterious, elusive ability of mine which could grant me a glimpse inside his head. For what seemed like minutes I stood there, vainly splitting my focus between the yellowed glean of his eyes and the blindly frenzied search going on inside my own head. But for all the good it did, I might as well have zoned out. My aimless mental snatching turned up nothing – not even a _glimmer_ of something tangible. Stubbornly frustrated with my lack of – well, _anything_ – I tried harder; closing my eyes and shifting all of my focus onto the search for my distinctly absent telepathic ability.

And I found nothing.

Reluctantly, I gave up; opening my eyes to stare at Edward's face.

His expression had shifted slightly, since the last time I'd seen it; a faint trace of confused intensity touching the corners of his eyes and mouth. Even so, it didn't grant me any more clues as to what he was thinking.

I was about to open my mouth, about to ask _why_ he wasn't upset with me, when he beat me to it.

"What were you doing?"

My gaze flitted to the small blossom at my feet again as I tried to come up with an adequate explanation for _why_ I'd run away from him. "I needed a minute," my eyes came back up to meet his. "Talking like that," I jerked my head minutely in the direction of the house, "made me remember how my family …." Dropping my gaze from his again, I switched tactics, "It wasn't one of the better days. They'd had … time to come to terms with the whole 'moving things' phenomenon – I'd been doing that since the beginning, pretty much. But this …," I briefly brushed my fingertips across the center of my forehead before sliding them back through the thick strands of my hair. "With the other stuff, they could _pretend_ – blame it on the wind or a bad nail. But they couldn't do that with this. They _had_ to acknowledge that it was going on because they had to teach me not to do it – or, at least, not to _admit_ I could do it."

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest. For several heartbeats, I focused on bringing the tempo of my pulse down to a _calmer_ level. When it was at a more relaxed rate, I finished, "I _am_ sorry about running out on you like that. This whole 'what can you _do_' topic is … _touchy_ for me. But I'll try to be better about it in the future."

Sucking in a breath, I nibbled my lip and opened my eyes to look back at his face, "That is … if you still want to be around me?" The last part came out as a quietly whispered question. Honestly, I was already half-convinced that – angry or not – he wouldn't want to be spending much more time around someone like me.

His face softened and he stepped forward, holding out a hand toward me, his fingertips breaking out of the shadows beneath the tree and catching the sunlight; the mirage of colors bursting forth from the strange facets hidden amongst the smooth contours of his skin.

"Of course I want to be with you," the liquid depth of his eyes had returned and I could see the sincerity swimming within them.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, my hand rose automatically; my fingers wrapping themselves smoothly around his stony ones and blocking out the psychedelic lightshow.

He pulled me to him and his other hand rose to rest itself against the side of my neck; his thumb ghosting once against my jaw, "There isn't a thing you can say or do that will change that."

* * *

><p>"Tell me why," I stared down at the countertop beneath yet <em>another<em> glass of ice water I hadn't asked for.

After Edward's candid declaration, neither of us had spoken for a while; each electing to keep our muddied thoughts confined inside our own heads, each waiting for the other to make a move. And, eventually, he had – suggesting that we come back inside.

When he'd guided me through the narrow door on the back of the one-story addition into the _'kitchen'_, I'd expected to see a small, unused room with empty cabinets and old-fashioned appliances – if any, at all. But _this_…. _This_ wasn't a kitchen. _This_ was a studio set for one of those big-budget chef shows on the Cooking Channel.

The entire room was a wash of white wood cabinetry, smoky-gray granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. Martha Stewart couldn't have designed a more 'straight-from-a-magazine', state-of-the-art kitchen. For God's sake, there were _two_ ovens – one an obviously high-end convection type. _Two!_ In a house where _no one ate_! Even the damned icemaker in the refrigerator door worked – and who _ever_ heard of a vampire needing _ice_?

Reluctantly, I'd climbed onto one of the three leather-upholstered barstools in front of the custom-designed island – prep _sink_ and all – in the center of the Cullens' grandiose kitchen. For several minutes, I'd kept my grumbling to myself; inwardly knowing that my bad mood had _nothing_ to do with how _pointless_ this whole room was, perfectly displayed inside the home of seven vampires. No, my snippiness had to do with feeling inferior – both monetarily _and_ emotionally. Edward might not be upset with me – a concept which still made absolutely no sense to me – but I was certainly mad enough for both of us. I just didn't understand him.

Hence, the question: _Why?_

He was leaning against the counter between the refrigerator and the stove; palms casually resting on the countertop on either side of him, left foot crossed over his right, eyes fixed intently on the wood floor beneath him. When I looked up, half a second after I spoke, he was scrutinizing my face, "Why what?"

Pushing the glass away from me – the last thing I needed was to spill its contents on myself – I answered him, "Why aren't you angry with me?" My voice came out louder than I'd meant it to, echoing off the white-plaster walls and out into the main house. It was a good thing that none of his family members had been out there, when we'd returned, else I'd be doing something _really_ embarrassing.

He sighed once, breaking eye contact with me to stare down at the floor. It was the same reaction he'd had, when we'd first started _divulging information_ – the look that clearly said he _didn't_ want to talk about this.

Not that it mattered. I was still plowing right along, "Explain it to me – because I don't understand _how_ you can be so …." I stammered for a half-second before finding the word I wanted, "So _unphased_ by all of this." The encompassing gesture I made was meant to be all-inclusive; lumping _me_, my _issues_, and the whole _'did I forget to mention that?'_ fiasco into one large ball.

His eyes flashed up to meet mine, the yellow in them taking on an orangey hue, "_Unphased?_"

The tone of his voice put a stop to my unwelcome tantrum right there. It was exactly the same one he'd used in the car on our trip back from Port Angeles; the menacing hiss of anger and disapproval he'd adopted, when I'd told him it was too late for me to change my mind.

I swallowed once; feeling the cold of the counter beneath my fingertips slowly climb up my arm, hearing the first distant chime of warning bells ringing from inside my own head.

His posture changed; his feet coming to rest flat on the floor, as he leaned forward, gripping the closest edge of the island with his long fingers, "You think I'm _unphased_?"

Though his tone had simmered – become less cold, more exasperated – I couldn't make myself move, my eyes locked onto his and my breathing ticking shallower and faster will each pull.

He scoffed slightly, a _whoosh_ of air escaping both his mouth and nose in a quiet rush as he straightened up. Bringing his arms up, he ran one through his fiery hair; using his other to motion out toward the main house, "Every single thing about my whole _world_ has been turned upside down and inside out, since the moment I first laid eyes on you, Lillie!"

I flinched unintentionally – just a small twitch of my facial muscles – as I processed his statement. It wasn't that he was exaggerating or lying – quite the opposite; he was being completely truthful. His life _had_ been turned topsy-turvy since the instant I'd stepped foot into this tiny little town. In a matter of a few short months, I'd made him question _everything_ he had ever known to be true. I'd forced him to live in constant, agonizing _want_ of my blood. All because I was too much of a coward – too _selfish_ – to make myself leave.

"I don't think you have even the slightest _idea_ how hard all of this," he made the same sort of all-encompassing gesture I'd made earlier, "is for me." Seeming to have reached some sort of argumentative climax, his left hand rose to his face; his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose between them. "I spend every single second of every single day fighting with myself – fighting to keep my balance on this tenuous tightrope I've been walking with you since the beginning," his words drifted off to a jagged whisper and, all the while, he refused to look at me.

I felt broken, like I'd cracked down the center. Seeing him like this – dejected, struggling – was like watching the last autumn leaf hit the ground, like witnessing the fall of Rome – it made me realize, for the first time, that he really _wasn't_ so different from me. In that moment, I began to understand that, vampire or not, Edward wasn't as untouchable as I'd come to assume. He could, in fact – _did _– experience the same confusion, frustration, and weaknesses that I could – _did_.

"You are upset, then," I tried to keep my voice dry, clinical.

His chuckle was just as empty of emotion, "Of course I'm upset."

Nodding once, "I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."

Opening his eyes, he met mine, "I didn't lie to you."

I raised one of my eyebrows upward, angling to look annoyed rather than hurt; trying _not_ to feel the stabbing pain radiating from the spot just to the left of my sternum, "You told me you weren't upset."

Personally, I didn't – _couldn't _– blame him for being angry with me. I only wished he'd respected me enough to tell me the truth. The last thing I wanted – _needed_ – from our relationship was for him to start playing the parent. After everything I'd seen and done over the course of my lifetime, it felt condescending for him to try to shelter me like this. I wasn't a child anymore – I hadn't been for a very, very long time.

"No," something flashed across his citrine eyes so quickly that I couldn't identify it; and, just like that, the fierce emotions of his fiery outburst were smothered behind the matte opaqueness of the neutral mask he wore far too often for my liking. "I said that I wasn't upset with _you_."

Something inside me snapped, seeing that damned expression on his face again. He'd already admitted to being angry and I wasn't about to let him bandy words with me.

Slowly, I shoved the barstool I was on away from the counter; drawing myself up to my full five-foot, eight-inch height, squaring my shoulders, and allowing the resentful anger I felt have reign over my expression. "Don't you _dare_ do that," my tone was arctic, dragging my voice into a deeper octave than usual.

The mask fell away as I spoke, confusion and shock replacing the frustrated stagnation I'd seen there previously.

"I am _not_ a _child_, Edward Cullen," doing my best not to grind my teeth, I glared right into his veiled eyes. "You don't get to stand there and play word games with me."

"I'm not …," his eyes were flashing quickly between my own.

He barely got the words out before I raised my voice to be heard over his, "Don't."

He stopped speaking, his mouth snapping shut as I continued.

I attempted to lower my volume, fully aware that his family was still somewhere in the house, "Now, I know I screwed up."

His mouth cracked open, but quickly closed at the look on my face.

"But I don't need you to gloss over my mistakes for me. I am _more_ than capable of handling the consequences of my own actions," I let that sink in for a moment before I continued. "You're angry – and you have every right to be. So why don't we start acting our age and call a spade a spade, all right?"

He didn't speak immediately, seeming to give my words thorough consideration before he did so, "Fine."

I relaxed minutely; knowing full well that I wasn't out of the storm yet.

"I _am_ angry but …."

I opened my mouth to protest but he met me, glare for glare, and I closed it instead.

"_But_ … I am _not_ angry with you."

"Edwar …." My volume was beginning to eek upwards again.

"Will you let me finish, please?"

Twisting my mouth into a somewhat irate purse, I nodded. He was going to be getting an earful after this.

"Now, I'm not saying that I'm not _upset_ that you didn't confide in me about your telepathy. I wish you had – especially after you found out about _me_," he raised a semi-challenging eyebrow at me before continuing. "But I'm not stupid or unsympathetic. I am under no delusions that this was the last of your secrets – nor that I will be the only one you confide in. You have your reasons and I've promised to be patient."

I broke eye contact with him, feeling somehow _guilty_ for the secrets I was still keeping.

"Either way, I am, in no way, upset _with you_, Lillie."

Finding us back at the starting line for our whole conversation, I groaned allowed, "Then what _are_ you upset with?" I still didn't believe him because, in my mind, being upset _because of me_ and being upset _with me_ were opposite sides of the same coin – i.e. different ways of labeling the same thing.

"Everything _else_," he growled through his teeth, his ochre eyes boring into mine like a drill. Then he began pacing, like a caged lion at the zoo, "It's like I'm constantly one step behind – like, no matter how hard I try, I just can't catch up. I'm irritated that it feels like I'm forever waiting for the other shoe to fall. I can't anticipate _anything_, when it comes to this!"

My breath caught in my throat as his temper amped up. By the end of his rant, I was locked into complete immobility – hardly able to enact the whisping inhalations and exhalations that were necessary to maintain consciousness. I probably looked like the deer just before the car smashed into it; eyes wide, limbs frozen. The clandestine sirens were screaming in my ears, both useless and unnecessary – like the ringing of a fire alarm in a building already engulfed by flames.

Edward had never looked like this before, the seraphic contours of his pale face twisted into something far more _nefarious_. Nevertheless, I'd seen this expression before; on a face both too similar and too different from the one staring back at me.

* * *

><p>I blinked, trying to force myself to focus on the wraith-like creature pacing above me; the severe contrast of black velvet against translucent alabaster exaggerated to an unbelievable extreme by the flickering of orange torchlight and the myriad of yellow, white, and blue lights still dancing across my vision. It was difficult – that last blow had broken something, I was sure of it. Gingerly, I raised my right hand to my bruised cheek, only to instantly snatch it away as a burst of white-hot pain shot through my face at the slightest pressure, a quiet whimper slipping through my tightly clamped lips. Yes, definitely broken – possibly shattered – but not bleeding.<p>

_Thank God for small favors …,_ I thought sourly.

_He_ hadn't stopped moving since I'd crumpled to the floor, all the while muttering something under _his_ breath. I wasn't certain of what _he_ was saying – the words spoken both too low and fast for me to reasonably follow; but I was, somehow, certain it wouldn't have mattered. The few syllables I _had_ caught weren't in a language I knew.

Preoccupied as _he_ was, I risked a glance at the _other_ – the one whose job it was to both watch and administer. _It_ was brutishly big – larger than any man I'd ever seen, and muscled like a bull.

Demonic red eyes immediately shifted from my legs – tangled up in the filthy remnants of my tattered shift – up to meet mine; a small, knowing smile turning up the corners of a full, wide mouth.

My heartbeat stuttered for a moment, as I processed the _significance_ of _its_ leer, but I held my own; smothering my inherent disgust and fear by meeting the unholy eyes of my tormentor wearing a Medusian glare.

_It _chuckled softly, offering me a sly wink before allowing _its_ eyes to resume their covetous examination of my body.

Without warning, _he_ turned on me; swooping down like a stony gargoyle to alit on the earthen floor before me. One ghostly hand stretched forth from beneath the shadowy billows of _his_ robe and gripped my chin between slender vices of ice.

A strangled cry ripped itself up from my throat, as _he_ roughly handled my mangled face; my eyes beginning to water as the pain ravaged my already-sensitized nerves.

"Quid tu abdet?" _He _gave my captive jaw a sharp jerk, _his_ hellish eyes locked onto my own, "Cur non video?"

Without permission, a single tear leaked out of my right eye; lazily drawing a trail down my dirty, swollen cheek. I couldn't have answered _him_, even had it meant my freedom – the words _he _spoke were utterly unfamiliar. But, what I _did_ know was that, if _he_ didn't release me – and soon – I was going to pass out. The sharp, stabbing pain from my wound was already making it hard for me to think, already inking the edges of my vision the same hue as _his_ obsidian robes.

For the briefest of seconds, _his _crimson eyes flickered away from mine; watched the languid procession of saltwater as it flowed down my skin toward _his_ hand. When they came back to me, there was a perceptible difference. _He'd_ managed to wipe the devastating anger from the harsh lines of his face, to subdue the blazing inferno behind the scarlet of _his_ eyes.

"Why must you do this, Lillie?" Even the cadence and intonations of _his_ voice had shifted, making the question carry a sense of compassion and gentle chastisement.

But it was all a lie – a façade of the greatest caliber. _He_ cared not one bit about the pain I was in – the pain _he_ had caused. Instead, _he_ was playing the role of a disappointed parent dolling out a well-deserved punishment to a willful, unruly child – electing to place the blame for _his_ failure upon _me_.

Had I the ability, I _might_ have spit on _him_ – it wouldn't have been the first time. But with as tightly as _he_ was gripping my chin in _his_ hand, there was no way I'd be able to open my mouth enough to do so.

_He_ must have seen the defiance burning out from my eyes, understood that I was neither buying into _his_ little game nor broken enough to surrender what _he_ wanted from me. So, without further preamble, _he_ motioned over _his_ midnight shoulder to the _other one_.

Instantly, the gargantuan brute was in motion; stepping around behind me and hoisting me up off the floor by my arms. Within seconds, I was on my knees, back pinned against _its_ broad chest with my arms pulled together at an angle which threatened to tear them from their sockets, and my throat and jaw roughly clenched between _its_ meaty, boulder-like fingers.

I groaned in restrained agony as _it_ tilted my face upwards so that I could see _him_.

_He_ stared down at me, dispassionately, for a moment before addressing the monster behind me, "Farlo."

_._

Five broken ribs, two fractures to my ulna, and a dislocated shoulder later, I was praying for death – or, at the very least, unconsciousness. Not that it did any good – praying never did.

With an unceremonious jerk of my jaw, _it_ forced my tear-stained face upward so that I could look at _him _again. I stifled the groan with as much effort as I could and tried my best to breathe shallowly.

"Vous voulez la douleur cesse, vous n'avez pas?" _He_ reached over and ran his frosty hand down the good side of my face.

As though to add emphasis, _it_ adjusted _its_ thumb upward onto my right cheek, pressing it into the tender flesh.

My jaw, swollen shut from the recent beating and purposefully locked by my own stubborn will, snapped open at the surge of agony that radiated from beneath the wintry pressure; and, before I could stop myself, I was answering _him_, "Oui! Oui, s'il vous plaît – arrête ça!"

_He_ motioned for _it_ to stop, "Donne-moi ce que je veux, et la douleur s'arrête – je vous promets."

At that moment, with my face burning as though it had been set aflame, I would have given _anything_ to make it stop – and I _hated _it. My pride was one of the few things I had left, but there was only so much pain I could endure in one day – and _it_ had just pushed me over the line.

"Que voulez-vous," I whispered raggedly; my voice scratchy and hoarse.

"Laisse-moi entrer, Lillie – juste me laisser entrer et il sera tout arrêter," _he_ stooped down to get close to my face, as _he_ spoke; those demonic eyes reminding me of just _what_ I was dealing with.

I started sobbing – as much as I could with _its_ thick hand wrapped tightly across my throat, "Je ne sais pas comment!"

The next thing I knew, my head had snapped to the right, my left cheek stinging just as badly as my right was. Straining to see through the onslaught of tears and concussion, I could barely make out _his_ face; a heart-stopping feral-ness cast upon _his_ inhuman features.

"In questo modo mi appartengono – un modo o nell-altro," _he_ hissed menacingly; the gleaming white of _his_ teeth catching the orange light from the torch and taking on an eerie hue. "Rompere il suo!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Everybody, please welcome back Lillie's backbone – oh how I'm sure we've all missed it quite a lot. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and **Please Remember to Review** (I will be sending those who review a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on the site).

_**Food For Thought:**_ Who was the extra vampire in Lillie's flashback of Italy – the one she referred to as _it_? More so, how is Lillie going to react to Edward losing his temper over something so _similar_ to that which her previous tormentor coveted?

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>__ (You can all thank Serendipity10 for suggesting that I include these at the ends of each chapter – just so you don't have to look them up on a translator.)_

_(LATIN)_

_Quid tu abdet__? - What are you hiding ?_

_Cur non video__? - Why can I not see?_

_(ITALIAN)_

_Farlo__ - Do it._

_In questo modo mi appartengono – un modo o nell-altro__ - This will belong to me – one way or the other._

_Rompere il suo! - Break her!_

_(FRENCH)_

_Tata__ - Auntie_

_Oncle__ - Uncle_

_Vous voulez la douleur cesse, vous n'avez pas__? - You want the pain to stop, don't you ?_

_Oui! Oui, s'il vous plaît – arrête ça! - __Yes ! Yes, please – make it stop!_

_Donne-moi ce que je veux, et la douleur s'arrête – je vous promets. - __Give me what I want, and the pain will stop – I promise__._

_Que voulez-vous__ - What do you want?_

_Laisse-moi entrer, Lillie – juste me laisser entrer et il sera tout arrêter - __Let me in, Lillie – just let me in and it will all stop._

_Je ne sais pas comment! - __I don't know how!_


	20. Chapter 20: A History Lesson

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own_ Twilight_ - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you HATE _Twilight_ or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel of the Night Watchers_) for taking this on.

Well, I managed to get this one out a LOT quicker than I expected. There is something I need to warn you all of before you read it, though:

~~ I have changed some of Carlisle's History. This is because I've spent countless hours over the last few weeks researching the mid-1600s (when he would have been alive) and have come to the conclusion that SM didn't really delve too deeply into the history around that time. As such, the changes I've made are meant to be more historically-accurate. ~~

_Chapter Summary:_ Sometimes, the Fairytale Knight has cracks and scratches in his shiny armor. Sometimes, the story just isn't written the way you expect. When that happens – when reality finally comes knocking – how do you cope?

Hope you enjoy and **PLEASE REVIEW!**

(Again, those who do so will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on FFn).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 20:<strong>

"Edward."

I almost didn't recognize the voice, filtered through the lingering haze of my memories. It wasn't that he spoke loudly or in an unfamiliar tone, I'd heard him use it just a few short hours ago. Rather, there was a quality to it – an emphasis which managed to be both comforting and insistent; one which _made_ you want to focus on him.

For the first time in minutes, I tore my gaze from Edward's face; turning mine to the left to stare at the blond man hovering just beyond the archway leading into the dining room.

Carlisle wasn't alone, though he was the closest. Both Alice and Jasper were standing in the extended foyer, their eyes bouncing back and forth between me and their brother in a calculating, weighing way.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Edward turn toward his father; a slightly blurring motion that was accompanied by an irritated growl. But he didn't speak – probably because he could read the thoughts behind Carlisle's expression.

"Why don't you take a break with Alice and Jasper – I can stay with Lillie." His voice wasn't nearly as insistent as it had been, when he'd spoken Edward's name before; though it rang with a distinctive air of authority.

"No," Edward had schooled his own tone back to carefully controlled neutrality.

"Edward …," Alice's soprano trill was quiet as she stared at him; her eyebrows pinched down in a concentrating way.

"I said _no_," there went the smooth tone.

I flinched at the volume he used – unable to help the mental connection I drew between _angry vampires_ and _pain_ – a small gasp slipping between my lips. And, of course, that drew the attentions of everyone – which, in turn, made me flinch again; a slow, anxious tremble starting to climb up my limbs. I had to close my eyes before I was able to inhale.

"Edward," this silken drawl was quieter even than Alice's; accompanied by a roll of serenity sent toward me.

I blinked my eyes open, as it hit me; feeling the tingling itch of tears beginning to flow.

To my surprise, Jasper's gaze was locked not on Edward or Carlisle, but on _me_. For an insistent I held it, feeling the foreign tranquility surge the longer I stared into his golden eyes.

"What?" Edward's voice was still raised, his eyes skipping to his brother's face.

The first tear slipped out – I couldn't stop it, no matter how I tried to blink it away. That last flashback had been more that I had been expecting; forcing my thoughts down an avenue I'd sworn I wouldn't travel today. Now, amongst the already ringing alarm bells in my head, _other_ harsh words were playing – ones in voices I didn't _want_ to hear.

Jasper's eyes never broke contact with mine. Instead, he jerked his strongly chiseled chin in my direction. When his lips moved, his words were little more than a whisper – spoken at a volume and speed _almost_ too low for me to follow, "Look at her – she can't take much more, right now."

At first, I wanted to argue with him, _wanted_ to wipe my tears away and _insist_ I was fine. But I wasn't – he was right. Seeing this side of Edward's temper had placed me in a position I hadn't anticipated, one which forced me to see beyond the rose-tinted-glasses perspective I'd been maintaining about _us_.

"Lillie …," the aching torment in Edward's voice resonated inside my chest, as our eyes met. He took a single step toward me, his left arm raising up, reaching for me. But one step was as far as he made it, because I flinched. "I'm sorry – I didn't … I wasn't trying to scare you. I just …."

"Edward," Carlisle cut back in and I took the opportunity to look away from the agonized expression on Edward's face. "Please." He raised one arm, motioning behind him toward the glass back door.

"Lillie," Edward whispered my name.

I turned my eyes back to him, unable to find words of my own.

For a long moment, he didn't speak; just looked at me – tears streaming down my pale face, my hands trembling at my sides. When he did finally say something, it was in a heartbroken tone.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"I …," I stuttered the word, flicking my eyes to Carlisle before returning them to him. "Don't know …."

Part of me – the largest, most insistent part – didn't want him to leave. Despite the horrible memories his diatribe had dredged up – regardless of the inherent parallels between my past and present situations – I still wanted him near me. Then again, I was certain that I needed some time away from him – time I'd have to spend seriously thinking about what this Grimm fairytale truly meant for me.

Edward's eyes moved to his father, then behind him to his siblings – seeming to pause significantly on little Alice's face. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nodded his head. When he turned back to me, his empty mask was back in place.

"Will you be okay here with Carlisle?"

My stomach clenched in fear for a second, but I managed a curt nod.

He walked over to me slowly, purposefully ignoring my reactionary twitch at his first step; his beautiful amber eyes locked onto mine, the pain behind them poorly smothered. Stopping in front of me, he lifted his hand up to caress the side of my face – pausing only briefly, when my breath hitched.

"I love you," his words were echoed in the emotions burning in his eyes. "I won't be far – you can call me, if you need me, all right?"

"Okay," my voice cracked on the single word, another tear leaking out of my eye at the same time.

And I stood there, frozen like a sculpture, watching Edward turn from me, watching him walk lithely through that back door of the house and vanish out of sight; doing the one thing he'd promised not to do – leaving me alone with his family. That, in and of itself, had hurt – like having my chest constricted, making it difficult to draw in breath. But the worst part of it was knowing that I hadn't done a damned thing to stop him – was realizing that I wasn't sure that I should ….

* * *

><p><em>What now?<em>

Staring blankly down at the row of ivory and ebony keys before me, I absently stroked their smoothly-worn surfaces as I pondered that question. It should have been an easy one to answer, should have been almost trivial. But it wasn't. Because I just didn't know.

When this whole thing had started with Edward, I hadn't really known where it was going – or even where I _wanted_ it to go. In a way, I'd been swept up by the possibilities, by the very _idea_ of something _more_. Never stopping to actually _think_ about what I was doing. I'd just kind of … _jumped_; closed my eyes and prayed for the best.

The problem was, once it all got rolling, I forgot to open them up again ….

It was my own fault, really. I'd gotten so used to living a lie, to just going through the motions of having a life, that I'd skipped out on _actually living_ mine. Granted, my circumstances dictated a certain level of illusion. But I'd spent so long depriving myself of _anything normal_ that I'd ended up falling victim to my own tyranny – I'd become a prisoner inside my own life. It was no wonder that I'd been so willingly blind to the complications looming over my relationship with Edward. He was the first thing I'd ever allowed myself to _want_.

Sighing heavily, I mentally pushed aside the curtain I'd carefully kept between me and the truth; physically cringing as I did so. Then, as clinically as I could, I lined up my self-imposed delusions side by side with the realities I'd been so keen to ignore. It was a depressing process, forcing myself to acknowledge all the things I hadn't before wanted to see; having to admit that there were so many … _barriers_ between us.

I'd done my best, over the last two weeks, to suppress my instinctual reactions to the things I'd seen and learned – to rationalize away every one of the complications stemming from this single, basic truth: Edward was a vampire. And, truth be told, I'd done a superb job – what with that whole _'ultimate dreamer'_ thing I had going on. Through a series of hazy logics and perceived reasonabilities – not to mention some _very_ understandable explanations from Edward, himself – I'd managed to convince myself that the whole Cullen clan was nothing like the other vampires I'd met. Granted, they _weren't_ much like the Italian vampires I'd been around – in temperament, personality, _or_ lifestyle. But, somehow, I'd managed to take those variances to an extreme – internally cataloging them as a different species; one incapable of the kind of malevolent flaws their kin so brazenly displayed.

In short, I'd made the assumption that Edward was ideal; that it was impossible for him to demonstrate the sort of angry frustration – the brief flash of selfishness – I'd witnessed this afternoon. But you know what they say about assuming ….

So … what now?

Now that I knew Edward wasn't perfect, that he was capable of the same emotional spectrum as the others of his kind – now that I had _proof_ – where did that leave me?

Absently, the fingers of my right hand began to depress the keys before me; the melodic progression familiar but in a tempo far too slow and halting to be considered _playing_.

I loved him – even seeing what I had today, I knew that. It was for that reason that I'd so freely surrendered caution and logic to enter into our current relationship. It was for that reason that I was sitting here, contemplating … everything.

Because, in the end, what this whole thing really came down to was one question: Was it worth it? Was being with Edward worth all the pain it would bring – all the memories I was terrified of, all the heartache of leaving?

For several bars, I sat there, the fingers of both hands now inattentively playing a tune I hadn't consciously chosen. Within moments, the sporadic breaks between the notes had shortened, bringing the languid mournful melodies of the Lacrimosa from Mozart's Requiem to life. Closing my eyes, I focused on the music rather than on the difficult question I'd just posed to myself. Because, the truth was, I just wasn't sure ….

* * *

><p>The last notes hung in the air poignantly, their doleful harmony echoing around the room. Finally, opening my eyes, I spied Carlisle leaning against the nearest column; his brilliant golden eyes carefully examining me.<p>

Having not expected to see him standing there, less than ten feet from me, I jumped slightly; several of my fingers depressing random keys on the piano before I remembered to snatch them away. Considering that I hadn't asked permission to use the instrument, I felt a little guilty having done so. Even so, he didn't look upset. Rather, his expression was warmly casual – a neutrality that was, somehow, more welcoming and inviting than that which Edward so often wore.

"Forgive me," I could feel the flush rise in my cheeks and I was certain my chagrin was obvious. "I should have asked."

"Not at all," he smiled warmly. "It's there to be used – and I'm quite certain Edward won't mind."

A little surprised by his graciousness – not to mention that last part – my eyes flickered back to the keys for a moment before returning to him, "It's Edward's?"

He nodded once, just a small dip of his flaxen head, "One of his favorite indulgences."

_Yeah, right along with Simba and Bambi …._

The instant the thought was concluded, I gave myself a mental slap. It really was uncalled for for me to be so judgmental. Edward and his family were doing the best they could, given their difficult circumstances.

Embarrassed by my internal snipping, I looked away from Carlisle back to the piano. It really was a beautiful instrument – perfectly tuned and pristinely maintained.

"He didn't mention that he played?" The polite inquiry was either a cover to keep me talking or Carlisle had misread the expression on my face as disappointment.

Shaking my head, I lifted one leg to rest on the bench; turning myself so that I could face the man speaking to me. "I suppose it doesn't really surprise me, though."

He raised one of his pale eyebrows, "Oh?"

"He seems to dabble in a lot of things," I shrugged.

"As do you," he made an offhanded gesture toward the piano. "You play quite well – have you studied?"

"Some." In truth, I'd taught myself most of what I knew. I'd been _instructed_ on the use of a piano forte during my time in Italy and, when push came to shove, they weren't all that different. What else I'd learned had come from years of lessons spread over the last several decades.

Lifting one of his slender hands to indicate a chair nearer to me, "Do you mind?" Clearly asking me whether it was all right for him to come closer.

Smiling somewhat ironically, I motioned him forward, "Not at all." It was a little amusing to have him ask _me_ for permission to sit in his own house.

When he moved, it was with a leisurely litheness, a controlled fluidity that seemed both practiced and natural at the same time. On anyone else it would have seemed out of place but, for some reason, it was perfectly suited to him.

"You two have a lot in common," his casual observation was made as he sank into the cushions of the armchair.

"I guess," I _tried_ not to think about the unspoken things we _did_ have in common – or the ones we _didn't_.

"Does that upset you?"

Sighing, I rubbed at a series of wrinkles creasing the leg of my jeans, "No. It's just …." I couldn't finish that statement. Not because it would be cruel or embarrassing, but because I couldn't seem to put into words what I wanted to say. Having so much in common with Edward wasn't upsetting in the least – well, save the _one thing_ that I had yet to admit to. In fact, it was a comfort more often than not. The trouble was that, despite all the chitchat we'd engaged in, I couldn't honestly say that I _knew_ all that we had in common. Our whirlwind courtship hadn't really lent itself to the kind of interpersonal discoveries that I assumed most couples enjoyed – not to mention our propensities for keeping secrets.

"I feel a little like I'm stumbling around in the dark," I looked back up at him, barely pausing to realize that I was discussing something so personal with a complete stranger. "He's so …." How to put it nicely? "_Private_ – there's just so much about him that I don't know."

Carlisle nodded once, "Could not he say the same about you?"

I blushed fantastically, dipping my head in acquiescence – there was no real need to answer, after all.

"There is no shame in having secrets, Lillie – sometimes, there are things better left unsaid," he paused, examining my reaction to his words.

Outwardly, I maintained a patiently interested countenance; appearing to take his verbal break as the end to his statement. Inwardly, I could feel a 'but' coming.

And I was right.

"However, there often comes a time when secrets have run their course, when their keeping becomes destructive – both to you and to those you keep them from," his eyes were locked onto mine, as he spoke; their honeyed depths conveying an intensity which harmonized with the concerned tone of his words. "It is then that a decision has to be made. Is it still worth it?"

I swallowed but couldn't seem to drag my eyes away from the enigmatic doctor's – and I _wanted_ to. There was a magnetism to his gaze, a strength of conviction and empathy that was wreaking havoc on my inner thoughts; fuzzying them in such a way as to make me wonder ….

_Was it worth it?_

Staring into his eyes like that, I couldn't rightly say.

Then Carlisle blinked.

I sucked in a mouthful of air, finally realizing that I had stopped breathing. Blinking furiously, I shook my head once; trying to clear the _fogginess_ that had taken up residency.

"I'm sorry about that," Carlisle's smooth voice carried a faint note of chagrin.

"_Putain tout!_" I growled under my breath, sucking in two deep breaths – just for good measure. "Can you _all_ do that?"

I _tried_ not to sound too put out as I risked a peek back at his face. Yes, there was definitely some chagrin there, lightly turning down the edges of his mouth. It helped that his apology seemed sincere – and that his metallic gaze was focused _just to the left_ of mine rather than straight on.

He sighed quietly, "More or less – it's a … _side effect_ of the transformation."

"Heck of a side effect," I muttered, feeling the last of the trance fade away. "I guess I'm not immune to _every_ mind-control ability you have." I did my best to hide the small measure of panic I was feeling inside. If that little _side effect_ worked on me, what else would?

"Oh, it's not mind control," he brought his hands together just over his knee, steepling his fingers in a very _doctor-esque_ pose.

"Then what is it?" What _else_ could it be? Every time any of the Cullens had locked eyes with me – well, locked eyes with anything aside from a malevolent glare – I'd seemingly lost all control over my body.

"It's a bit difficult to explain," he leaned forward slightly, his hands beginning to move as he spoke. "Vampires are creatures of extremes. The transformation takes everything about us – our physical bodies, our minds, even our personalities and emotions – and intensifies it to the point of excess. But the changes are not just limited to those aspects of ourselves which we have some control over; subconscious and autonomous functions are also affected – even our DNA is altered."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat at the thought of being changed so _completely_.

"The final result leaves us undeniably attractive to those we are meant to hunt – and not only physically; the intensity of our character and passions are just as desirable to your kind. And, like the humans we once were, our eyes are like windows into our souls; granting a muted glimpse of the fiery fervor within."

I shivered, having to give him that one. Looking into Edward's eyes was like watching the turning of the universe – mysteriously consuming.

"So, in essence, the phenomenon you experience when you lose yourself in our gazes is merely a concentrated version of that which you might have upon seeing anyone with a compelling stare. We can no more control your actions through it than you can ours."

The smile he offered me now was politely conciliatory, as he leaned back into the cushions behind him.

When I sniffed disbelievingly, it _might_ have been just a _tad_ louder than I intended to make it, "With the one caveat being that people who lose themselves in _my_ gaze don't have a chance of suffocating."

Carlisle smirked for just a half second before raising one hand to cover his mouth and clearing his throat in a very unnecessary way, "Yes, well … you do seem to respond more strongly to our … charms … than the average human."

Groaning aloud, I rolled my eyes in exaggerated exasperation – all right, maybe not _too_ exaggerated …. "_Lovely_." Like I _needed_ another thing to be weary of, when I was around Edward. When I returned my eyes to his face, Carlisle was wearing an examining expression. "What?" Automatically, I reached up to swipe at my face; feeling, somehow, like I had something on it.

"You're very pessimistic for someone your age."

I _might_ have been offended by his statement, if it hadn't been true – and if he hadn't said it in such a non-judgmental tone.

I shrugged, "Most people my age haven't lived through what I've lived through." Even though I was skirting the whole 'how old are you' insinuation in his words, the statement was nonetheless accurate. Most people didn't _survive_ the sorts of things I had – be they my age or not.

A slight, conceding dip of his head, "I imagine you're right. It can't have been easy – growing up the way you did."

Uncomfortable with the topic, I shrugged again; lowering my eyes to a place on the floor between us and rubbing my left hand along my right arm.

"Even so, you've persevered," though his tone never strayed from politely casual, I felt a hidden significance weighing it down.

I flicked my eyes back to his face for a fleeting moment before returning them to the floor; my left shoulder inching upwards to touch my earlobe in a lopsided shrug, "I guess I'm just too stubborn for my own good."

He chuckled, "Or you're _just_ stubborn enough."

I sniffed amusedly, despite myself, "I doubt anyone else would agree with you."

"Edward does." He said it like there wasn't a question in his mind as to the validity of the statement.

Shocked by the concrete irrefutability in his tone, my eyes snapped up to examine Carlisle's face; my cynically sarcastic side leaping in to helpfully shove my foot into my mouth. "You're joking, right? Edward _hates it_, when I argue with him."

"Not as much as you might think."

I just stared at him, my mouth hanging slightly ajar as I tried to come up with some form of rebuttal. "There's no way …." _Yeah, _that'll _convince him …._

"If there is one thing my son understands, it is the burden of being unique. Less than one-in-four of our kind develops an ability after transformation. And, of those who do manifest a supernatural talent, less than a third have what could be categorized as a 'persistent' gift – one which is always active. Of that number, fewer still possess something socially debilitating."

I swallowed, feeling a small lump forming in my throat. The otherworldly statistics had never been laid bare for me before. Having them so thoroughly broken down, I had to consider that Edward might better understand my circumstances than I'd once thought.

"So, for all his irritation over not getting his way, he does appreciate your obduracy," leaning forward slightly, one of his long forearms coming to rest against his thigh. "Because he knows it's that strength of self that has kept you going all this time, that has allowed you to survive so long in a world where our differences are not always celebrated."

* * *

><p>"Can I ask you something?"<p>

Carlisle had let me sit there in silence, processing what he'd told me. It was remarkably … _peaceful_ having him there, quietly watching me think. And it had taken a while to rally my jumbled thoughts together, to reform some of the erroneous conclusions I'd had.

Now, though, I was curious about something – something he'd both said and hadn't; the eluded-to circumstances of Edward's own 'Great Reveal'.

"Be my guest," he was still reclined in the armchair; long legs crossed in front of him and hands folded loosely upon his Dockered knee.

I nibbled on my lip for a moment as I oriented my words.

"When did his ability manifest – did he just … _know_ or …?" I let my half-lucid question fade off to silence, realizing that I hadn't quite hashed out the logic behind it.

He smiled a little – just a small tweak of his lips that let me know he was amused by the nature of my inquiry, "His hearing started immediately – from the first moment he awoke."

_Awoke?_ I blinked, thinking back to the night Edward had informed me that vampires didn't sleep. How could he have _awoken_, when he didn't sleep?

"But, no," Carlisle continued to answer me, apparently unaware of the internal detour my mind had taken. "He didn't just _know_. It was several months before he realized what was going on."

"Why so long?"

"The first months of a newborn's life are …," he seemed to take a moment to think before continuing. "Overwhelming – the thirst alone can be almost unmanageable."

My nose wrinkled at the idea of _wanting_ to drink blood so badly that it was impossible to think, but I managed to bite back any other reaction.

"Add in the suddenly extreme physical and emotional alterations and it becomes difficult to keep track of – or even notice – some of the little things."

"Telepathy was a _little_ thing?" My question was a tad on the impudent side.

"Compared to the rest of what he was experiencing, yes."

I shook my head ruefully; utterly unable to conceive of having unexplained voices rattling away inside my head being so dismissible. "How did he figure it out, then?"

"Me." The statement was so blasé, so wholly unconcerned, that I had to blink once and think back to make sure I'd heard what I thought I'd heard.

"You … told him?"

"Not precisely," he waved his hand in an unconcerned way. "He eventually picked up on my thoughts."

"But … how did you know?"

He chuckled wryly, as he cast me a _knowing_ look, "When he started commenting on the things going through my head, it wasn't hard to figure out."

"Oh." I don't know why, but I felt … thwarted.

"Disappointed?" One golden eyebrow arched upward.

"No, it's just …. I thought you might … I don't know … have a _test_ or something."

He laughed quietly, "I'm afraid not. It's usually a surprise – for everyone involved. The sire rarely knows whether their progeny has a propensity for something, as most humans do not exhibit signs prior to their transformations."

"But they do sometimes know?"

He shrugged, "On very rare occasion. There have been vampires whose gifts allowed them to measure the potential for supernatural talents in others; sometimes to even identify those latent abilities – though, that does not often extend to humans."

For a long half-second, I let myself wonder if that was how _they_ had found me – if one of those … _Seeker Vampires_ had seen me, seen my potential, and reported it to _him_.

"That does bring up an interesting topic," Carlisle's smooth tenor knocked me out of my temporary reverie.

Glancing up to him, I waited – already sure that I wasn't going to like the next part.

"If you wouldn't mind my asking …," he paused, watching me.

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, I waited for him to continue. There was no way I was going to agree to answering a question before I'd even heard it out.

"Did the Howards ever know about your gifts – did you ever tell them?"

I gulped as quietly as I could before shaking my head, "No." The single word coming out as a mildly hoarse whisper.

"You were able to maintain control, while you were with them?"

"I …," I swallowed again, trying to decide whether this was something I should be discussing with Carlisle _before_ I filled Edward in on it. In the end, I figured that it couldn't hurt. Nothing about this little tidbit of information was damaging to myself – and it wasn't something I thought Edward would care to know first.

"Enough control," I qualified.

He sat there, waiting good-naturedly.

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. "Things hadn't been bad for …," I forced myself to swallow, realizing – at the last second – that I had been poised to say 'years'. "_A while_," I continued. "I'd move things around in my sleep sometimes – but I could stop it from happening, when I was awake."

"And the telepathy?"

I nibbled my lip for a moment, "I didn't hear anything, while I was there …."

He blinked, "Nothing at all?"

I shook my head, starting to wring my hands uncomfortably.

"When did it stop?"

My mouth worked silently for a few seconds before I was able to answer him, "After I got away."

"You haven't heard anything since then?"

I _tried_ not to squirm, but the quick flash of his eyes across my seated form told me I'd been unsuccessful, "Well … I have …."

"When did it start again?"

Groaning internally, I lowered my eyes from his and crossed my arms over my torso, "After the funeral."

"The Howards'?"

_God, wasn't that _obvious?

I nodded.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'traumatic events', and I cringed.

"And Julia – have you told her?"

I shook my head so emphatically that I nearly lost my balance; my hands shooting down to clutch the lip of the bench I was on for stability, "God, no! She's got enough to deal with, as it is."

The shallow nod he gave was accompanied by a shift in the emotions behind the shimmering honey of his eyes – a shift that spoke volumes in its silence. It was that same familiar empathy that I'd recognized from our discussions earlier; the one that made me certain that he _knew_ what it was like to stand alone.

"What about you?" My voice was soft, my tenor undemanding.

He looked back at me, one of his slender brows ticking upward in the center.

"I mean, Edward had you – so did Esme and Emmett and Rosalie. Alice was alone, but even Jasper had the members of his first coven. But what about you – who did you have to talk to?" It was probably a prying question – one that should have been posed after a longer association; but I felt I had some leeway, when it came to personal inquiries. After all, he knew almost as much about me as Edward did – more in some cases, since he'd seen my blood work.

He sighed, both feet sliding to the floor as he leaned further into the pillows behind him, his arms coming up to rest along those of the chair, "That's a very long story."

I shrugged in as off-handed a way as I could manage – especially considering the seething curiosity that was beginning to writhe within me, "I don't mind."

The corners of his mouth ticked back upwards just a notch, "All right."

I adjusted myself on the bench, pulling both legs up to cross in front of me as he began.

"My transformation was neither my choice nor my sire's intention – it was purely accidental," his tone had drifted back to clinical, detached.

I blinked, trying to understand being turned 'accidentally'. It had always been my impression that the act required some … deliberate _'willing out'_ on the part of the sire – a conscious decision to change the victim. To hear otherwise was faintly disturbing.

"I never saw him again – though, it may have been he did not survive the night, himself."

My brows pulled down in confusion. Carlisle's sire may not have 'survived' the night? I wasn't aware that vampires could be killed – well, unless it was by another vampire ….

He must have recognized my puzzlement, because he seemed to switch tactics, "Europe in those days was very different from how it is now. The golden Renaissance was long over and the Thirty Years' War was moving toward an end. But, in England, the socio-political and religious turmoil was just beginning.

"King Charles was spending the country into ever-increasing debt, with his extravagance; angering Parliament with his suppression of their role in government and setting the stage for the first of the Civil Wars. The Puritans were gaining power and influence, striking tensions with Anglicans and Catholics alike. And, all the while, the common people eked out a living."

Even had I wanted to, I couldn't have commented, when he paused to take a breath. I was too much in shock; my overloaded brain slowly beginning to piece together the timeline he was describing. King Charles I had been executed in 1649 – over three-hundred and sixty years ago. And, yet, Carlisle sat there regaling me with the facts, as though it were only yesterday ….

"I was a young child, when Cromwell seized control – and I don't remember very much about the strictly-Puritan enforcements, myself – but I do remember it being a very hard decade for my father and I. Before the Commonwealth was established, he was an Anglican pastor. Afterward …," he elicited the facial equivalent of a shrug. "Let's just say that it was a very good thing I was apprenticed out to a London bookseller."

Right. The Church of England had been essentially dissolved until the early 1660s, when Charles II had been re-established as king in his father's place. Considering the bleakly fanatical enforcement of Puritanical morals during the time – and the outlaw of Anglican practices in favor of the newly-formed Presbyterian denomination – Carlisle's family would have found surviving in the city a challenge, in those years.

"Anyway," his left hand enacted an airy clearing motion. "By the time I was in my late teens, things had become a little more stable. My father was reinstated and I left the employ of the bookseller to come home and aide him with the parish. For the next few years, I studied diligently with my father, becoming ordained and readying myself for the time when I would take over the congregation from him – I even married."

My mouth fell open with an audible _'pop'_, and I stared at him with a comical mix of confusion and disbelief on my face. The idea of Carlisle being married – of him with _anyone_ except Esme – was nearly unfathomable to me. They just seemed so … _meant to be_.

A nearly inaudible snicker escaped him, as he took in my expression, "Times were different back then. Most people didn't live much past fifty – and those that did were usually of the upper classes. Besides, it was often expected that a man in my aspiring profession be married – something about alleviating the temptation to sin."

I flushed, when the reason _behind_ that expectation crossed my mind.

"My father was a good man – strict, but well-meaning. And, the times being what they were …," he let the phrase run off into silence, pausing only briefly before continuing. "The belief in magic and evil was still very strong back then. Superstitions and religion ruled as much as the nobility did. With the influence of the Puritans … things became more _real_ to the common people; everything from witches to werewolves – even vampires."

My mouth snapped shut at the word 'werewolves'; reminding me of a looming _threat_ of being 'watched' and the still-unknown enigma of the Quileute Pack.

"Naturally, people turned to their religion for answers – for protection from the subconscious fears of their minds."

"But they were right – those things _are_ real," I blurted out, not even stopping to think about what I was saying. The instant I realized what I'd done – that I'd hinted at knowledge greater than he knew I possessed – I started to backpedal. "Well, _vampires_ are, at least."

The look Carlisle gave me made me want to squirm; feeling the speculation slither over my skin like a cold chill.

"True," he wiped his face clean of the examining expression he wore. "But they didn't know that. What they thought to be supernatural influences were the strivings of uneducated minds to understand the harsh realities of the world around them – to give purpose and reasoning to that which they could not explain."

I bit the inside of my lip, lest I say something _else_ overly-revealing.

"In those days, organized religions tended to support those superstitions – seeking converts and greater influence among the people. My father was encouraged to organize and lead hunts for these creatures; persuaded to demonize the misunderstood or peculiar members of society to his parish. In the years before my transformation, he _'captured'_ more than a dozen denizens suspected of being more than they were. They, nearly all, were burned at the stake."

I shivered, involuntarily, "They burned innocents?" It wasn't as though I had ever thought the hundreds of people who had been executed as suspected witches or warlocks actually _were_. More, I found it hard to believe that Carlisle's own father had participated in such pointless acts of discrimination and hate.

"The problem with accusing someone of witchcraft or vampirism is that public opinion immediately shifts against them. It no longer becomes the job of the appellant to prove wrongdoing, but rather the accused must prove their innocence. And, with no concrete evidence about the realities of such beings, it becomes nearly impossible to do so."

I nodded half-heartedly; still more than a little disgusted by the depths to which prejudice and hatred will drive people.

"Unfortunately, his fanaticism grew worse with age; egged on by the utter devotion of my wife to the truth of his teachings. So, when the time finally came that my father could no longer spearhead such events, he passed that responsibility on to me."

"You … hunted people?" God, that was worse than if he had killed them after he was turned! At least he had the excuse of needing to eat, once he'd become a vampire.

"No," his face fell, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was a great disappointment to my father – to both of them."

I waited, unsure of what he meant by his frank statement.

"I'd seen life outside of the clergy – known a world where things were not always so black and white. Even so, I believed as they did – that monstrous creatures prowled amongst us. I also believed that it was my job to find them. To that end, I began my search. And it is because of that search that I am here today."

"You found them." It was obvious. He couldn't be sitting here, talking to me about his boyhood in seventeenth-century England, if he hadn't found at least one vampire.

He nodded once, "It took a few years, but I managed to discover a true coven of vampires."

"How?"

"I listened, I watched. I paid attention to the little things that no one else would. The suspicious deaths and disappearances – always in the poorer districts at night; the whispers of things living in the sewers. Simply put, I was patient."

"What happened? Did they figure out that you knew?"

"No," a small shake of his flaxen head. "They didn't learn of it until it was too late – else I expect they would have simply fled. Our kind is not often driven to hunt in the interest of keeping our secrets. Rather, we merely leave. If there is no proof – no witness or survivor – then it is safer to abandon the haunt. There are not so many of us that we cannot relocate to an unpopulated area easily enough."

"Experience?"

He shrugged, "It's been known to happen. Sometimes, people just get too curious – too close."

"Okay, so what happened?"

"Once I was sure of my discovery, I immediately told my father. He urged me to gather the congregation and hunt them out. So I did. We gathered our pitchforks and torches," he chuckled wryly, apparently meaning the phrase more as a joke than as an actual accounting. "And we sought them out.

"I took them to a sewer entrance in the docks, where I had previously seen one of the creatures emerge. _Luck_," there was a distinctly sour twist to his tone on the word – a sneering acknowledgment which I was all too familiar with, myself. "Was on our side – or his, depending on how you look at it. He slipped out from behind the grate just as we rounded a far corner."

Carlisle's eyes had become vaguely glassy – as though he were no longer seeing me or the pastel room we were in.

"I heard him call out in Latin – warning the others about the mob. And then he began to run.

"Thomas and I were at the forefront of the column, closest to him, and so we gave chase; the fifteen or so other men following behind us more slowly. At first, he was moving too quickly – his ghostly skin glowing in the moonlight overhead, almost blurring as he ran. Thomas and I pushed ourselves harder, determined to catch the fiend.

"It slipped between some buildings – down an alleyway and out of sight – and I began to worry that we'd lost him. But, when we rounded the corner … he was waiting for us."

Maybe the strength of his memory – the recollection of the horror he'd witnessed – snapped him out of his reverie, or maybe it was the slightly-more-labored nature of my breathing that did it. Either way, he cut himself off with a faint shake of his head and his eyes focused back on me.

"I don't know why he stopped – he could have easily outrun us, fled the city. Maybe he couldn't resist the lure of the kill, or maybe he was just too hungry to ignore the call of our blood. I guess it doesn't matter.

"He killed Thomas first – breaking his neck quickly. Then he bit me – probably intended to drain me dry – but the others caught up to us a few seconds later. They managed to distract him enough that he dropped me to fend them off. But he must have realized that he couldn't hold them all off indefinitely. So, he grabbed a hold of one of the other men and ran off into the night – my congregation quick on his heels.

"I managed to crawl away from the alley – knowing what my father would order done with anything corrupted by the beast – into a nearby cellar. Everything after that is … a little blurry – at least until I woke up a few days later."

"Did you go to the coven – the one in the sewers?"

He shook his head, "No. I was mortified at what I'd become. In my mind, I'd turned into a monster – an unholy demon that didn't deserve life."

"What did you do, then?"

"I fled the city, retreated into the wilderness; hoping to die."

"How long …?" I let the question trail off, not really certain I should be asking it.

"How long did I hide away?"

I nodded sheepishly.

"It was many years before I risked coming near humans, before I felt I'd perfected my control enough to re-enter society. Even then, I didn't risk returning to England."

"What did you do?"

He smiled a little more _happily_ than he had for a while, "Europe was changing again, when I finally left my isolation. There were great advancements in science and medicine and I found myself enamored of the potential to do good. I swam the English Channel to France, where I spent my nights exploring the beauty of Paris and its citizens and my days studying anything I could get my hands on – everything from philosophy to engineering, though I focused primarily on medicine.

"As time went by, people stopped believing in the reality of vampires. And so I began to reintegrate myself into the world; travelling all over Europe, Asia, and northern Africa. I studied medicine in the universities and began to inure myself to the call of human blood – a practice which took many, _many_ more years."

"So you've never belonged to a coven?" This was still a hard concept for me to understand. I was so _used_ to the idea of vampires living in groups – limited though my experience might have been.

He laughed softly, "No, I belong to a family."

"No," I blushed when I realized that I was unintentionally trivializing the life he now lived. "I mean before – before Edward."

"No, I've never officially joined another coven – though I have lived amongst various ones around the world at one time or another during my travels."

A sense of eased tension flowed through me at his answer; relieving some subconscious fear I hadn't even known I'd been harboring. He hadn't been a member – he wasn't ever one of _them_.

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>_

_FRENCH_

_Putain tout! – Damn it all!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, what'd you guys think of Carlisle's updated history? Also, I know Lillie lost a little of her backbone in this – with how hard that last flashback hit her, it was kind of inevitable. But I promise she'll have it back again next chapter! Anyway, I'd LOVE to hear what you thought, so **PLEASE REVIEW** and have a great weekend!


	21. Chapter 21: Baseball

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own Twilight - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you HATE Twilight or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I would like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (_Angel__of__the__Night__Watchers_) for taking this on.

I know this chapter took a lot longer than expected to get out and I do apologize. I could offer up tons of excuses, but I won't bore you all with them. I will, however, warn you all that I will be taking a hiatus on writing until the new year. I've got travel for work, my best friend's wedding – out of state – and, of course, the holiday season to tend to over the next couple months. And I feel I can't keep you guys waiting with baited breath while I try to scrounge around some time to write. BUT, I will keep writing as I am able.

* * *

><p><em><span>Chapter <span>__Summary: _As Edward returns to the house, Lillie has to come to terms with both her anger toward him over his outburst and her own inhibitions over their continued relationship. Decisions have to be made – of that, there is no question. But, before that, another question has to be answered ….

* * *

><p>Hope you enjoy and <strong>PLEASE <strong>**REVIEW!**

(Again, those who do so will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on FFn).

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21:<strong>

A muted, mechanical buzzing broke the companionable silence that had fallen between Carlisle and I; the sound immediately sending my hand to rest against the rectangular bulge in my left front pocket, even though I already knew that the brief disruption hadn't come from my phone. Reaching into one of his pockets, Carlisle pulled out a blackberry; his amber eyes flitting quickly across the screen before he slid it, just as casually, back in.

"They're heading back. Are you feeling better?"

Immediately, I understood the significance of his question and I felt myself blush a deep shade of red – instantly mortified by the scene I'd caused in the kitchen, earlier.

"I'm really sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. Usually, I'm not so … uncouth," ducking my head, I nibbled my lower lip self-consciously.

What was _wrong_ with me? I'd never done something like that before – started an altercation in a house full of strangers. But to do it here – in a house full of _vampires_, no less – was completely inexcusable. It seemed, more and more each day, that I was losing my mind.

"No apology necessary," he smiled warmly. "There's not exactly an instruction manual on how to do what you're doing. For as similar as you and Edward may be, there are just as many differences between you. The thing to remember is this: Being in love doesn't mean you'll never argue or disagree. It isn't a balm for all wounds or a bridge over every chasm. What it does mean is that, at the end of the day, you have someone who can see past the mistakes you've made, the failings you've acquired, and still finds something worth loving."

"I …," I had to swallow before I could say anything – his words had stirred something within me, reminded me of something I'd been having trouble seeing over the last hour. _That_ was how I felt about Edward. "Thank you."

He nodded his head, just once, and slowly rose to his feet, "Edward will be back soon, so I'll leave you to your thoughts. I rather think I've managed to raise more questions than I've provided answers with my nostalgic stories and whimsical idealism." The way he said it was joking – as though he found this fact both amusing and perplexing.

I smirked, "Just a few." _Like, __I __don't __know__ … __ten __or __twenty __million._

"My door is always open. You're welcome anytime," he motioned toward the door standing just beyond the foot of the staircase.

"I appreciate that."

He inclined his head toward me before turning and walking across the room.

I tried to let him go, to keep myself from asking any more of the questions flitting around inside my head. Not because I thought he might be weary of my curiosity but because it would be more _prudent_ for me to focus on the coming conversation with Edward. There were things we needed to discuss – badly. Even so, I wasn't able to stop myself.

His pale hand was extended toward the brass handle on the door, when I sputtered out a half-question, "Just one more, if you don't mind."

When he turned back to me, his golden eyes were lit with amusement, "Just one?"

"I … well," I shrugged. "For now."

He laughed – a smoothly melodic sound, "All right. What would you like to know?"

"Why 'Cullen'? Was it your surname, when you were alive?"

"No, my family name was Collins. 'Cullen' was the name I took many years after my transformation – once I had solidified the philosophy my family and I live by today. I meant it as a simple play on words. Since we feed only on animals, we are careful to restrict our hunting to locations where there are overpopulation issues – be it predators or otherwise. So, in a sense, our survival is achieved by culling the herds."

I shook my head slightly, a wry smile forming on my lips, "I don't know whether to be impressed by your sense of humor or intimidated by your wit."

He shrugged, "Life really isn't worth living, if you can't find something to enjoy."

I blinked, feeling as though his words weren't just in answer to the statement I'd made; rather, like they were a soft-spoken commentary on how my own life was often lived – in secret and in fear.

Before I had a chance to reply, Carlisle's eyes left mine; his flaxen head turning toward the back door, as though he were hearing something. My own eyes followed his, scanning the open expanse of grass stretching down to the river; seeking out any sign of the movement my companion was no-doubt responding to.

Within minutes, three figures emerged from the tree line on the far side of the river; their pastel clothing and faintly shimmering skin making their features indistinguishable from one another at this distance – only the diminutive stature of the middle-most shape lending me any clue as to its identity. I watched in awe as the trio set into motion, their forms blurring into pale streaks that raced to the edge of the grayish-blue water before taking air, soaring over the obstacle to alight gracefully upon the opposite bank. In the instant it took for their feet to settle on the stony ground, the sun passed behind some clouds; bringing the brilliant disco-ball lightshow to an end and rendering their features more easily recognizable.

I felt it, the moment Edward's eyes landed on me – like a soft _zing_ of current passing over my skin; a weak echo of the unexplainable connection we so often shared. Without conscious command, my left foot came forward, bringing me a single, half-step closer to him.

His face turned away from me, focusing on his two companions.

Likewise, I shifted my attention to his siblings; curious to know what counsel he was seeking from them – what counsel he'd already sought. But whatever passed between them, in those moments before they began walking toward the house, was lost to me; my senses too weak to pick up words spoken so far away.

The group split apart halfway up the lawn; Jasper and Alice turning aside, heading for the elaborate tool shed, while Edward continued to the main house. As he drew closer and closer to the back door, so, too, did the anger I'd earlier felt toward him rise within me. Though, now, it was tempered somewhat by the knowledge Carlisle had imparted to me over the course of Edward's absence. I now understood that there were things Edward and I needed to discuss – things we'd _both_ been avoiding; whether by conscious choice or not, it didn't matter. The long and the short of it came down to the fact that we couldn't keep going on like this; hovering uncertainly in this halting limbo we'd fashioned around us. It was time to make some decisions.

The glass door didn't even have time to click fully closed, when I spoke. I tried to keep my tone level, calm. Even so, the words came out with a biting clarity.

"I'd like to go home, now."

* * *

><p>The silence in the car was thick enough to be oppressive; weighing on heart and head like only purposefully unspoken thoughts can. Even the air was affected, tasting faintly of ashes – bitter and desolately empty.<p>

He drove slowly, the speedometer not daring to creep above thirty-five; his eyes never straying from directly ahead. For all I could tell, he wasn't even breathing.

As for me, I sat as still as I possibly could, considering I still had need of oxygen. My focus was internal, on the forthcoming discussion; eyes fixed on an empty spot on the dark gray dashboard. Part of me desperately wanted to avoid what was coming; to keep putting off the inevitable until the end – be it the end of our relationship or the end of me. But, as Carlisle had pointed out, I was _just __stubborn __enough_ to quell that desire. I already existed in one limbo; vampire-imposed and self-enforced as it was. There was no room for another. I would have clarity in what was left or I would have naught at all.

"Stop the car," I tried to keep my tone empty of emotion, when I made my request.

The vehicle instantly began to slow, creeping to a full stop a few seconds later. The moment the tires stopped moving, I started; reaching for the metal door handle, grasping it firmly, and pulling with one hand, while the other sought out the seatbelt clasp. Without another word, I exited the Volvo; stepping out into the grayish light of a cloudy afternoon. Looking around, I was surprised to see the school parking lot just beyond the sidewalk.

I almost laughed aloud. It was ironic, really. Being here, in the place where we met, to have this conversation. The one that might very well send us our separate ways.

I heard the faint _click_ of the driver's side door opening, but Edward didn't say anything. He must have been shocked, considering that he hadn't tried to stop me. Well, if we were both lucky, he wouldn't try to stop me now.

Sparing not a single word or backward glance I started walking, headed for a series of metal bleachers some thirty yards beyond the farthest building. The soles of my shoes crunched softly against the asphalt as I walked, punctuated by the quiet echoes of another pair some distance behind me. The nearer I drew, the clearer the baseball field became; thick lines of white chalk accentuating the broad swaths of reddish dirt which formed the diamond and the raised pitching mound.

I came to a stop just beyond the foot of the bleachers, my eyes focused on the white home plate resting atop the sienna dirt. It was a good analogy for life, really – baseball. You stand there, on home base, the catcher and the umpire behind you. And, the whole time you're there, your aim is to get as far away as possible; to launch that ball – like your dreams and aspirations – the furthest from home you can. But, once you get out there, to first base and beyond, all you find you want to do is get back home.

My cyclic thoughts were punctuated by the first hollow thud of a raindrop hitting the ground. That was when I realized that I couldn't hear approaching footfalls any longer. So he was here – we both were.

Balling my hands up, I absently shoved them into my front pockets as I continued to stare out across the open field. Where to start?

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind," Edward's voice, though soft and lacking any negative quality, startled me enough to make me jump.

Somewhat reluctantly I rotated myself toward him, raising my eyes to his face. With a pang I realized that it was the first time I'd actually looked at him since we'd left the house. With another, I realized that this might be the last time I'd be able to look at him.

For a wonder, the blank mask he so often wore wasn't plastered there – though his face wasn't exactly _expressive_. Rather, there was a malleability to it – an ease of muscles and set, which made him seem far more human than the statuesque façade I was accustomed to seeing there in times of stress. While it still gave the impression of neutrality, it wasn't forcibly so.

"Or would you rather I start guessing?"

Sighing under my breath, I shook my head, "I've never much liked guessing games, myself."

Ochre eyes raked across my face for several long moments, their fantastical color catching the waning light in such a way as to give the impression of self-illumination. When, at last, he'd finished cataloging me, they sought out my own, "That makes two of us."

Breaking eye contact with him, I lowered my gaze to the ground; electing to tentatively toe a small clod of dirt with my shoe, as I continued to organize my thoughts into words.

Without warning another pair of shoes entered into my line of sight, directly in front of mine and distanced less than a foot away. Just as quickly, I saw a flash of something gray streak toward me from that same direction. I didn't have time to react though. Before I could even tense, I felt the cool marble of Edward's hand brush the sensitive skin beneath my chin; strong fingers curling carefully along my jaw line, applying a gentle upward pressure.

He waited to speak until my eyes had crested his chin, "Tell me what's wrong, Lillie. I can't fix it, if I don't know what it is."

At first, I thought the slight tremble running over my skin was the result of the increasingly-persistent raindrops hitting my head and shoulders; the cool water easily seeping through the cotton of my blouse and the curling strands of my hair. It wasn't until I tried to speak – to put into words the complex hodgepodge of uncertainty I was experiencing – that I realized I was shaking as much from fear as from cold.

When the words finally came out, they weren't the ones I'd been expecting, nor did they do a particularly good job of addressing the topic I was attempting to breech. Instead, they were as vague and undirected as my gaze; which, at the moment, was cast in the general direction of our feet.

"What are we doing?"

Even over the repetitive pitter-patter of raindrops striking the metal seats of the nearby bleachers, sounding for all the world like a chorus of staccato drums, I heard him sigh. It was a desolate sound, depressingly hollow.

"Look at me," his voice was soft, also lacking any true emotional inflections.

It was hard to make myself do so, knowing that there might not be an _easy_ answer for what I'd just asked him. I lingered on small aspects of his features, which I'd never noticed before; like the infinitesimal offset of the Cupid's bow arc of his lips from the center line beneath his nose, and the tiny, almost imperceptible scar-like line which split the right side of his lower lip. Tiny imperfections which made the whole all the more appealing for their existence.

When our eyes met, it felt like the first time. My breath stopped coming and I couldn't seem to comprehend anything but the intensity burning amidst the tawny sheen of his eyes. However, unlike the first time, there were no alarms or warning bells going off inside my head. In their place was a pregnant silence, as though in a conversation heaped with subtext.

We stood there for longer than I could track, staring at each other like we could somehow _will_ the answers forth from out of the mind of the other.

"I'm not sure I have the answers you're looking for." His words snapped me out of the strange trance-like state I'd succumbed to.

I felt my brow furrow, as I stared at him, "Why not?" How could he not have an answer for me?

"This is as new to me as it is to you, Lillie. I told you, I've never walked this path before."

"That's what I don't understand, Edward. What is 'this path' that we're on? Where is it going – where does it end?"

I couldn't keep my eyes focused on his, once I'd finally had out with it. Instead, I allowed them to sweep downward as they closed.

From somewhere inside me, a cynical, nagging voice was answering that question for me, "_Nowhere_ …."

"End?" He sounded confused, "Who said anything about an end?"

"_Reality__ …__," _that horrid, pessimistic voice in my head supplied – _unhelpfully_.

Cringing away from the cold certainty in that whispered word, I turned my face away from him, squinting my eyes tightly shut in an attempt to block out what I didn't want to hear. Not that it mattered any – it never did, never would. Trying to deny the truth was no more useful than scooping water out of a sinking boat. No matter how hard you tried to keep it out, in the end, you'd still drown in it.

He allowed my face to slip from his grip without protest, "Lillie?"

I heard the question in his voice, the confusion and worry mounting into tension, but I couldn't answer him. The entire purpose of coming here was to address this stupid topic, the one upon which my whole future hung. But, when it came down to it, I found I wanted nothing more than to keep silent; to shut this nagging _need_ to understand the specifics of my situation away inside another of those mental drawers, never to again see the light of day. Because, truthfully, I felt I already knew the answer to this question – and it was the same as the one given by my internal skeptic. Nowhere.

"Lillie?"

"I …," I swallowed, trying to force myself to face facts. Better to know now, before I got too much further in.

"Are you …," I _felt_ him take a half step away from me. It was like a solid tug on the already taunt string wrapped around my heart. "… breaking up with me?" His voice, already faintly hoarse from strain, broke at the end.

Thoroughly shocked, my eyes shot open as I turned my face back to look at him, "What?" Honestly, I wasn't able to believe I'd just heard what I thought I had. What would make him think me _capable_ of breaking up with him, let alone _inclined_?

There was the mask I'd been expecting before, the one devoid of any semblance of expression. His arms were back at his sides, loosely balled up fists resting against the rain-splotched denim of his jeans. But his eyes …. Shock, pain, fear, anger, and longing poured out from the depths of those shimmering orbs; twisted together and warring for dominance in a display of humanity so powerful it was consuming. For the life of me, I couldn't have moved. It was one of the most riveting things I'd ever seen.

Very slowly he began drowning those battling emotions beneath _emptiness_ thicker even than I was used to seeing in his expression. When, at last, my sole window into his thoughts was nearly blackened, he spoke. His tone was as placid as a frozen lake, his words spoken carefully but firmly, "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No," I started to reach for one of his hands, but a miniscule withdrawal from him made me stop. I felt the bottom of my stomach drop a few inches. So, we were back to having no contact again.

His eyes scanned my face once, "What are you asking for, then?"

"I'm not asking _for_ anything, Edward. I don't want any promises or guarantees – I'm not stupid." Right then a raindrop struck the inner corner of my left eye, causing me to blink and swipe at it with the dampened cuff of my blouse. "I just want to know we're on the same page."

"With regards to what?"

"To _us_," finally able to remove the offending wetness from my eye, I looked back up at him. "I want to know what _'us'_," a small inclusive gesture in the air between us, "means. How long are we planning on keeping this going? 'Til the end of this month or this summer? Until graduation? What?"

The mask cracked and his brows knitted together, "That's what this is about?" Even his voice had become a little less composed.

"Of _course_ that's what this is about," I _tried_ not to sound too put out over his tactless question. "I need to know what's going on, what we're doing. If this is just a summer fling or something you think you're likely to grow out of soon, please just tell me."

He blinked, his lips parting slightly in a clear sign of speechless shock.

I waited.

After a few seconds, he managed to say something, "What brought this up?"

"Your family." I was surprised, when I heard myself offer up that answer, because I hadn't considered it. Then again, maybe I shouldn't have been. Granted, these concerns hadn't been solely the result of meeting the Cullens. Some of them had been there for nearly two weeks, most for little more than a day. However, in meeting his family, I'd placed myself solidly on whatever track _'us'_ was following.

"My …," he scrutinized me for a half-second. "Carlisle, you mean?"

"Partially." I couldn't deny that what Carlisle had said to me today had influenced my decision to breech this topic sooner rather than later. His candid discussion with me had made me see that I couldn't keep pushing the inevitable off, simply because I didn't want to face it. There were just so many things Edward and I avoided, so much we left mired in mystery and shadow, that we kept stepping on each other's toes. But we couldn't keep it up. One of these days, something far more serious than sore feet or tarnished prides was going to end up happening.

"What did he say?"

Shaking my head, I held up my right hand in a stopping gesture, "It doesn't matter, Edward. I just want to know how long you plan on sticking around."

"How long I …?" He stepped forward again, dipping his face so that it was very close to my upturned one; his left hand slowly rising to touch a spot along my jaw between chin and ear. "I told you I loved you, Lillie." His eyes were scouring mine, pale burnished gold meeting murky greenish-brown.

Sighing, I dropped my chin and gaze to look away from his eyes; choosing, instead, to focus on the splotchy feather-gray sweater he wore. "I know that."

His hand slipped to rest against the arch between my shoulder and throat, "You don't believe me." Both a statement and a question.

"No, I do." Looking back up at him, I met his eyes. There was no doubt in my mind that Edward loved me … right now. And, while I understood that it carried with it some level of commitment, I wasn't naïve enough to assume that the professed dedication was eternal. Particularly when there was a discrepancy in expected lifespans between the two pledgers – superficially misunderstood as it may have been. So, the question came down to this: how long could he _stay_ in love with me?

"Then why do you sound so sad?" His thumb stroked up and down the smooth skin of my throat as he stared at me.

"Because I'm a realist." I did my best _not_ to allow the twinging, tickling itch centered at the inner corners of my eyes to get to me.

His brows drew together as the corners of his mouth turned down, "Meaning what, precisely?"

"Edward," reaching up, I grabbed hold of his left wrist, squeezing it gently in an attempt to remove the sting from my words, "please don't treat me like a child."

"I'm not …," he started.

With my other hand, I reached up and pressed a finger to his lips, "I'd appreciate it, if we could drop all the pretenses. I'm not feeling up to acting like I don't understand that our being so different isn't going to affect our relationship. I can't pretend like I don't know that you're an immortal vampire," slowly, I removed my finger from his lips. "And you shouldn't have to act like you can't remember I'm … not."

Before my hand could fall to my side, he seized it with his free one; his cool fingers wrapping themselves gently around my more fragile ones, as his eyes scanned mine with a probing intensity I could almost _feel_.

"You're right," the hand resting against my neck rose to cup my jaw. "Neither of us should have to pretend anything, when it comes to this. I don't want that for us. But I need you to understand something," he spoke very softly, his words lilting with the faintest hint of a long-misplaced accent.

I nodded my head minutely as I took the inner edge of my lower lip between my teeth, kneading it gently.

"I haven't forgotten anything, love. Your being human doesn't matter to me in the slightest. I didn't fall in love with you because you had a heartbeat or a nice smell," his thumb stretched up to caress my cheekbone. "I love you because of _who_ you are. I'm here, with you, because I can't imagine spending a single day of my existence without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or feeling you in my arms," leaning forward he brushed the cold tip of his nose against mine, a brilliant smile breaking across his face as he did so. "Even if you _are_ being obstinate."

A small whisper of a laugh slipped past my lips at his belated aside.

"I'm not going _anywhere_," tilting his chin forward, his mouth brushed softly against my own.

That first graze sent an arc of electric current _zinging_ through me; tendrils of burning sensation scorching every nerve along its path to my heart. Air rushed out of my lungs in a stunted gasp the instant it hit my core, my lids fluttering along with the unconscious shiver that rolled down my spine.

With a concentrated effort, I forced myself to focus on his face, on the brilliant light dancing among the metallic flecks of gold in his eyes. This was no time to lose myself to mindless compulsion.

"I'm here for as long as you'll let me be here." Then, slowly, he pressed his lips against mine.

All right, _now_ it was time to lose myself a little.

* * *

><p>When Edward finally broke away, it was a damned good thing that his arms were wrapped possessively around my waist, supporting the vast majority of my weight; because my legs were effectively the consistency of runny Jell-O. The world spun wildly for a very long few seconds as I attempted to catch the breath his kiss had stolen away. And, for a wonder, he seemed just as affected; his breathing heavier and faster than normal as he rested his forehead against mine.<p>

"You mean it?" My words were shaking, the tone of my voice huskier than a few minutes before.

A soft chuckle as he nuzzled the hair away from my ear, "Stubborn as ever. Yes, I mean it."

I shivered involuntarily as his cool breath hit the sensitive flesh, a soft gasp slipping through my lips, "And if I never want you to leave?" _God_, why did that sound like it had two meanings? Why did it feel like I _meant_ both of them?

He pulled back to look me in the face, a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth; hinting at that devastatingly enticing crooked smile of his, "You'd make me the happiest man in the world."

"Forever?"

Another chuckle, "Be careful what you wish for, love. Forever is a _very_ long time."

I knew that better than most. But there was something veiled behind the joking tone riding his words, something which hinted of honesty and weighed of significance; like the remotest whisper of promise.

Choosing to ignore the strange hesitancy which set the hairs on the back of my neck standing on edge, I leaned forward, nuzzling my head beneath his stone chin, "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

><p>"You're wet." I was sitting as far forward as I could in the seat with the belt still buckled, my hair pulled over the top of my head as I used the warm air blowing through the vents as an impromptu dryer.<p>

One of Edward's sleek, rain-darkened brows arched upward as he turned his face marginally in my direction, "Really now, Ms. Pot?" His eyes raked casually over my own very damp ensemble before returning to the road.

Dragging my fingers through tangled strands of hair, I shot him a dirty look, "I mean that you're soaked. Do we need to go back to your house so you can change before dinner?"

"No, I've got a shirt and a fresh pair of pants in the trunk."

Pausing in my botched grooming attempts, I gave him a speculative look. Why would he keep a change of clothes in the trunk of his car? A sweater or maybe an extra jacket I could see, but a full outfit?

He seemed not to notice my scrutiny; his eyes fixed on the menial amount of traffic moving along the streets.

Pursing my lips, I tried to decide whether I _wanted_ to know why he kept part of his wardrobe in his car. Granted, it could be a simple precaution – in case he ruined something while he was out hunting. Then again, there were other, less _innocent_ reasons for having a change of clothes available on short notice ….

When the car slid to a halt in front of the extra garage where the T-Bird was parked, Edward turned to look at me. The instant he processed my strange expression, his brows lifted in confusion, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No …."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

I did my best to wipe the 'intrigued but in a cautious sort of way' look from my face, "I'm just … wondering why you have clothes in your trunk."

The confusion seemed to clear right up, replaced by a rueful amusement, "Alice figured I might need them."

I blinked, "Oh." Well, that made sense – in as much as sense can be made of the premonitions of a psychic vampire.

His lips twitched up into an impish smile, "What were you thinking I had the clothes for?"

Warmth rushed up over my face and I shook my head a little _too_ emphatically, "Nothing!"

Chuckling, he moved forward faster than I could follow; his face stopping scant inches from my own and the fingertips of one hand softly tracing a path from the edge of my jaw toward my – now _trembling_ – chin, "Have I ever told you that you're not a very good liar?" The sultry purr of his low-whispered voice was as responsible for the shiver I succumbed to as the silken graze of his flesh over mine.

Swallowing, I answered him in as steady a voice as I could manage – which meant that it shook about as much as a practiced vibrato, "No."

Another breathy chuckle, "Maybe I'll save it for another time, then." Then, quick as a wink, he kissed the tip of my nose before retreating out of range of my hastily-made swat.

"You're impossible," I grumbled, rubbing at the tickling sensation.

"Are you complaining?" A playful pout.

Rolling my eyes, I reached for the handle of my door, "No, just stating the obvious."

* * *

><p>The savory aroma of pot roast, red potatoes, and carrots was the first thing to greet us as I opened the front door; flitting in through the archway from the kitchen and making my mouth water. Hanging my jacket on the nearby coat rack, I scuffled my feet over the mat before stepping inside, "Julia?"<p>

No answer.

I was about to call out again, louder this time, when Edward interrupted me.

"She's not here."

Turning to look at him curiously, "How do you …?" Then my brain caught up with my mouth. "Right," stepping out of his way, "never mind."

With a nonchalant half-shrug, he smirked at me, "Probably a good thing."

"Oh?"

"Might be a bad first impression, if she caught sight of us now," without further explanation, the jacket slung over his arm was hung next to mine. Beneath it, resting against his bare forearm, were the aforementioned change of clothes.

"How so? It's not like she isn't _aware_ it's raining outside," I surreptitiously eyed the khaki Dockers and blue button-up. He was dressing up for this? Now I felt bad for how _casual_ my outfit was.

Laughing softly, "True enough." His eyes slid up my rain-soaked ensemble, from my splattered jeans to my clinging green blouse before meeting mine. "However, a quick jaunt from car to house isn't enough to account for our current state."

I couldn't argue with that, so I merely shrugged; trying _not_ to focus on the way his gray sweater adhered to every single line of his chest. Giving myself a mental shake, I pointed at the bathroom door, "You can change in there. I'll put your clothes in my room for later."

Raising a single sleek brow at me, the hint of a mischievous smirk tugging at one corner of his lips, Edward walked past me. It wasn't until the door clicked softly closed that I realized my offer could have been construed two different ways.

God, I needed to watch what I said around him. Otherwise, I'd find my foot _permanently_ lodged in my mouth.

Retreating to my room, I stripped out of my sodden clothes, leaving them hanging over the back of my chair to dry a little. Soon enough, I found myself standing before my closet. Considering how nice the clothes Edward had brought were, I felt I also needed to find something dressy. Flicking through the myriad of California-ready options – dismissing each as either too casual or too … well, _Californian_ – I felt my level of anxiety rising. How was it, with an entire _wardrobe_ full of clothing, I couldn't seem to find anything to wear? Talk about a cliché.

A quiet knock on the door leading from the bathroom made me jump, "Give me a minute!"

Hastily, I pushed aside a few more hangers bearing humdrum jeans and blouses until my flying fingers fell upon something far more appropriate. Yanking the dress from its place, I hurriedly slipped it over my head; my frantic digits tugging the zipper up before smoothing the snowy eyelet lace overlay and adjusting the thick straps across my shoulders.

Crouching down on my haunches, I began examining the labels of my shoe boxes, looking for something casual enough to be comfortable and formal enough to be dressy. Toward the back I found what I was looking for in a pair of metallic silver ballet flats. Pulling them out of their package, I stood up to slip them on.

That was when my eyes fell on the full length mirror screwed to the inner side of the closet door. One glance was enough to tell me that my hair was in no fit state to be seen. The hastily-attempted blowout in the car had accomplished little more than flattening the topmost layer of ringlets into awkward waves. Groaning in annoyance, I rushed to the dresser to retrieve a brush. With quick, painful strokes, I manipulated the mass over my right shoulder, separated it into three sections, and began the tedious process of twisting them into a thick braid. Three-quarters of the way down, I gave up. The bottom portion of my hair hadn't suffered the same manic-straightening that the top had, meaning that the curls were at least passably reasonable. A swift riffling through my end table drawer produced a plain brown elastic band, which I used to secure the spur-of-the-moment style.

Another peek in the mirror made me pause. Now that my curtain of disarrayed dark hair was out of the way, I felt exposed. It wasn't that the dress was improper – quite the opposite, considering current teenage standards; with half-inch thick straps and a sweetheart neckline, it was fairly demure. The problem was in the exposure of my scars. While my thick braid hung over my right shoulder, it didn't provide sufficient coverage of the myriad of marks that peppered the area – particularly from the back.

Self-consciously, I reached up with my right hand to rub the afflicted skin; fingers and palm coming to rest so as to completely hide the evidence of darker times. Absently, my left arm rose to wrap itself across my torso; fist clenched tightly, inner wrist pressed against the fabric of my dress hard enough for me to feel the pair of raised-crescent scars through the layers.

"Lillie?" Edward's voice, muffled through the closed door, made me jump, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I croaked, yanking my hands away from where they were. "I'll be out in a moment."

Forcing my eyes away from the mirror, I spotted something hanging from the hook next to it. Tiny silver buttons glinted against the muted mint fabric, lending an elegant simplicity to the garment. Reaching out, I let my fingers skim the shrug before removing it from its perch to don.

Returning to the dresser one last time, I opened Steph's jewelry box, retrieving a thick, sterling silver bracelet for my left wrist; its purpose to disguise more than decorate. Then a pair of tiny silver studs, which I put in as I walked.

Opening the door, I came face to face with Edward, who was hovering near it wearing an anxious expression. The instant his eyes fell on me, they widened considerably; the brilliant golden hue a metallic echo of the pale oatmeal of his slacks, creating a striking contrast against the cerulean of his shirt.

Pausing, I attempted to analyze the set of his face.

His eyes flickered down in a quick scan of my outfit before returning to mine, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Too much?" My hands began fumbling with the flowing skirt, making the scalloped hem dance around my knees.

Clearing his throat, "Not at all." He continued to stare at me, his expression saying more than he did – though not in a way I could easily read.

Turning myself halfway toward the room I'd just left, "Are you sure? I can change …."

My fingertips never reached the brass knob, their procession halted by the firm pressure of Edward's stone hand wrapped around my wrist, "Don't."

Surprised, I turned my face back toward his. He was closer than before, though not by much. A quick scan of his eyes told me I had nothing to be worried about; there was no trace of anger or hostility in them, though they burned with intensity.

As soon as I'd turned toward him, his hand released me, "You look beautiful." The tone of his voice was gentle but, like his eyes, there was a directness about the way he said his words which placed greater significance upon them than a casual compliment warranted. He punctuated the accolade by taking a step away from me.

Turning myself fully back to face him, I could feel the 'v' creasing the gap between my brows, like it had been carved there by a sculptor, "What's wrong?"

Chagrin flashed across the ochre of his eyes for a split second before he answered me, "It's nothing, really."

"Have I ever told _you_ that you're a bad liar?" I raised a critical eyebrow at him, despite the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

A quiet huff, "Not in those _exact_ words, no." His eyes flickered away from mine, toward the kitchen archway.

"Is it the food?" My eyes followed his before returning to scrutinize him. "Does it smell bad?"

"Not any more than usual."

I frowned, "Usual?"

He shrugged, "Everything humans eat smells disgusting."

Both my brows shot upward, "Really?"

Another shrug as he nodded.

That was when I realized that he wasn't breathing. "You're lying," I accused.

His brows rose innocently.

"You're not breathing."

"So?" Quieter than before, as though he were conserving his air supply.

"If it's _that __bad_, Edward, I can open a window or something. You don't have to hold your breath," I started to step around him, angled for the front window; though, honestly, I couldn't understand what he found so reprehensible about Julia's cooking. She wasn't a gourmet or anything, but at least she _could_ cook. Besides, the food smelled pretty good to me.

Edward retreated so quickly that I _heard_ the _whoosh_ of air. One second he was a few feet from me, the next he was all the way across the room, crushed into the open space between the entertainment center and the fireplace.

The unexpected movement startled me enough to make me stumble. I opened my mouth to rebuke him but it never came out. In the moment it took for the words to form, I realized that he'd retreated from _me_ – not from the smell in the kitchen. In fact, he was now closer to the source of the heady aroma than he'd been before.

"It's not the food, is it?" My palms felt cooler than a moment ago, damper.

He shook his head.

"It's _me_, isn't it?"

He didn't give an answer, either audibly or physically. Instead, he simply looked at me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed this 'bit of drama, bit of fluff' chapter. I'd love to hear about it, so **Please ****Review**!


	22. Chapter 22: Inklings

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight _- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight _or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: **Welcome back, everyone! It's been a long few months but I have finally managed to dig myself out from under the plethora of commitments I had piled on over the holidays. I hope all of your holidays were as merry as mine. So, without further ado, onto the story!

_**NOTE: You may want to re-read the last chapter, as this one picks up right where the last left off.**_

_Summary:__ Ever had that feeling where it seems like the whole world is conspiring against you? Like nothing you ever plan or want seems to be taken into consideration? Welcome to the party; hats are in the corner – and _yes_ you _have_ to wear one – and the punch is that nasty, fruity flavor that reminds you of cough syrup. The entertainment? What are you talking about? You _are_ the entertainment …._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22:<strong>

"Edward?" The pitch of my voice was higher than before, the normally-imperceptible timbre more noticeable.

His eyes slid shut for a brief moment, nostrils expanding as his chest rose an inch or two with the breath he took, "I'm fine – really." Though they slid open as he spoke, his eyes never quite met mine; his too-calm voice an unfitting counterpart to the rigid stance his body held.

Straightening myself from the balance-recovery pose I'd half-frozen into, I took pains to move slowly, predictably, "I'll go change."

It wasn't until I heard him sigh that I realized how _quiet_ the house had become, the stagnant air heavy with tension and expectation, "No – it's not that."

Pursing my lips, I surreptitiously chewed on the inside of my right cheek as I examined him, "Then what is it?"

"It's …," his right hand twitched ever so slightly; a movement that resembled a reach withdrawn. "Sort of … complicated."

"You can smell me better, now that I'm not …," fumbling around in my head, I tried to come up with an accurate, _proper_ description for what I was trying to explain. 'Not as fully dressed' was _close_ but not exactly the sentiment I wanted to put forth – mostly because I _was_ fully clothed. It was more like …, "Covered up as much."

"Yes but," his lips pursed for a half-second, the corners turning down into a dissatisfied frown, "that's not really the … problem."

Now it was my turn to frown, "Then what is it?"

His shoulders sagged in a dejected sort of way, "It's a little hard to explain to someone who's never … well, _experienced_ it."

One of my eyebrows arched upward in an almost unintentional show of disbelief, "I think you'd better try, anyway."

For the first time in minutes, his eyes focused on mine. He didn't speak right away, instead letting his gaze flit across my face before flickering toward the front door, "Can we go outside first?"

I blinked, taken aback by the request, "Um … sure."

Before I had the chance to move, Edward was across the room and walking through the front door. Though I followed relatively quickly, I half expected for him to take off – to make a break for his car. But he didn't. Once outside, he walked at a more _human_ pace toward the wooden swing which hung from the porch rafters. Taking a seat at the farthest edge from the door, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply; the act seeming to relieve some of the unexplained tension he'd displayed inside.

Deciding it might be better to keep my distance, at least until I really understood what had caused his earlier retreat, I elected to lean against the whitewashed wooden pillar near the door.

Leaning forward, forearms coming to rest against his thighs, hands gracefully folding together, Edward seemed to be unaware of my presence; his eyes focused on the worn wooden boards beneath his feet.

Finding that I would prefer answers _before_ my aunt and Charlie turned up, I broke the silence, "Better?"

I barely had time to register the rueful grin that turned up the corner of his mouth before it was replaced by another expression; this one hovering between chagrin and bitter resignation, "Enough."

I waited.

Shoulders heaving in a heavy sigh that was drowned out by the sounds of rain, "I'm sorry about that."

Wrapping my left arm across my waist, I curled the other upward so that my fingers could twine themselves in the mass of loose ringlets dangling from the end of my braid and waited for further expounding. When it didn't seem forthcoming, I gave him a nudge, "Are you going to tell me what happened in there?"

Amber irises peeked at me from the corners of almond-shaped eyes, but he didn't answer me. Even from the limited access I had to his facial expression, I could tell he was weighing the pros and cons – making up his mind about whether it would be better to explain himself or to leave me in the dark.

Ever eager to rise to a challenge – at least a challenge there was a possibility of my winning – I leveled a subtly patronizing look at him, squared my shoulders and chin, and let my hand fall away from my hair, "Or I can start guessing, if you prefer. I'm sure I can come up with a plethora of insidious explanations – stir myself into a right panic, I'm certain."

He frowned, "That won't be necessary."

"If you insist," I smiled innocently – well, as innocently as one _can_ smile after extending a form of social blackmail.

Sitting back upright, he turned his body toward me; one azure-ensconced arm extending to lounge along the spine of the swing while the other motioned me toward the open seat next to him, "Please."

Eyeing the old metal chains and hooks which secured the swing to the porch rafters, I wondered whether the thing were _up_ to holding two people at once. Granted, it had been designed for such use – what with the seat being more than wide enough for dual occupancy. But, in all the months I'd been living here, I had never once seen Julia use it – even on days when the weather outside had been reasonably accommodating.

After a few more seconds of scrutiny, I looked back at Edward. He was watching me, waiting to see what I was going to do; the smallest hint of amusement flickering in the golden sheen of his eyes. Fighting the irritated scowl I felt attempting to turn down the corners of my mouth, I straightened my back and made a show of confidently walking over and taking the proffered seat. Though, truth be told, I was expecting the thing to come crashing down the instant I relaxed my weight into its care.

With a wry shake of his head and an almost imperceptible sniff, Edward looked out over the misty road toward the empty lawn of a neighbor's house, "I keep forgetting how _different_ we are, how careful I have to be with you." His tone was whimsical, nostalgic and yet rueful at the same time. "It's not something I've really had to consider …," eyes flitting back in my direction for a split second before returning to their leisurely scan of the rain-soaked landscape, "well, before."

It was almost comical, feeling the pique of my curiosity and intrigue over his purposefully vague statement. Like the hollow, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation you get as the roller coaster climbs toward that first, breathtaking summit. There was something he wasn't telling me, something which he thought warranted actual disguise – not that _most_ things didn't already fit that criteria, in his mind. But what could it be? What was it that he thought I couldn't – or _shouldn't_ – know?

"I know you don't want to feel like I'm treating you like a child," turning his face back to me, he smirked in an apologetic sort of way. "But you have to understand that I'm not actually _trying_ to patronize you. It's just that I'm so used to being gentle, to reigning myself in whenever we're together that it bleeds through every now and then."

"What does this have to do with what happened inside?" It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the explanation of some of his more annoying tendencies – I did; it was just that I didn't see their pertinence to the current topic of discussion.

"A lot, actually," reaching forward he took one of my hands in his, squeezing it gently. "Being with you has been the happiest time of my entire life – and the hardest, if I'm being honest."

"What do you mean?" I felt like he'd slapped me. It hurt to know that he found being with me so difficult.

"I've never felt so comfortable with anyone before – not even Carlisle. We just … mesh together so well. I've known other vampires born around the same time that I was who couldn't relate to me as well as you can. It's actually a little eerie, truth be told." The arm resting along the spine of the swing moved to caress the side of my face in a consoling way, his grin playful.

I frowned, "What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all," he shook his head minutely. "It's only that being so free with you emotionally makes it harder to keep my guard up physically."

What flashed through my mind was an image of Edward pinning me to the wall of my bedroom, his body pressed firmly against my own as his nose nuzzled its way along my jaw. Swallowing hard, I blinked the hallucination away, "I … don't understand."

A knowing smirk turned up one corner of his mouth, "Everything I do with you has to be carefully controlled. From touching you," scooting closer he took my face between both his palms. "To kissing you," leaning forward he brought his lips close enough to mine that I could feel the cool trickle of air passing between them as he spoke.

Drawing in a broken breath, I closed my eyes and forced myself to sit still; to keep from crossing that invisible boundary he'd lain between us. Using what will I could muster, I focused on the sound of the rain hitting the roof rather than on the warm prickling sensation spreading out from the swaths of skin that met his.

The soft brush of his lips against the smooth expanse of my forehead caused me to jump; my breath whooshing out in a stunted gasp as my heart stuttered into a brisk gallop. My eyes fluttered open, when I felt him retreat; locking onto the barely visible band of gold ringing his dilated pupils.

"Even smelling you," his eyes slid shut for a brief moment as his chest rose and fell in a deep breath. When they opened again there was a flicker of emotion which tightened the muscles of my stomach.

"That control is crucial. If for one moment I lost it, I could hurt you." Now his gaze was serious, willing me to understand the importance of what he was telling me.

Nodding my head, I reached up and pulled his hands from my face; cradling them in my own more breakable ones. For several long moments, I met his eyes; searching their ochre depths for an answer to the question now echoing around inside my head. When I couldn't find it, I looked away; lowering my gaze to our hands resting in my lap.

"That's why you ran from me, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Nibbling my lower lip, I curled my fingers into loose fists, "Was it something I did?"

His thumbs moved to rub soothing circles into the skin on the backs of my hands, "No, it wasn't your fault. It was mine."

Risking a glance up at him, "What was it – did you get too close?"

He sighed. "No, I just …," his eyes left mine, rotating up toward the ceiling as though he were hoping to find the word he was looking for scrawled on the wooden rafters. "I forgot how _potent_ you were."

My brows drew together, "Potent?"

"Your scent."

"But …," I frowned. "I thought I always smelled very strongly to you."

His head did a strange enactment of a shrug, "Yes – but that's not really what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Having you so near all day … well, I got a little careless."

"Careless?" I didn't understand. He hadn't done anything reckless with me all day. Well, except maybe that argument ….

"I started breathing regularly."

I blinked, "So?" Didn't he do that normally?

The look he gave me was an odd mix between exasperation and genuine surprise.

"What?" I asked self-consciously. Had I just said something stupid?

For a half-second longer, the 'look' persisted. Then, as though some veil or curtain had slid aside, it cleared right up; wry understanding taking its place. With a shake of his head, he let out a rueful huff of air, "I keep forgetting that you don't know."

"Don't know what?" Now I was getting a little upset. Being made to feel like I was on the outside looking in wasn't something I appreciated – though, truth be told, it was a feeling I was quite used to experiencing.

"I don't really have to breathe, love."

I waited. When he didn't continue, I nodded, "I know that. You usually stop whenever we're arguing." _Or my aunt is cooking …._

He blinked, "You really _are_ observant, aren't you?" He sounded amused.

I shrugged, "But you do it the rest of the time – well, _most_ of the rest of the time."

"I do now."

I raised an eyebrow, "Now? You didn't do it before?"

"Not when we first met."

"Why not?"

A crooked smirk, "It made it a little easier to resist killing you, whenever we were close."

"But," I thought back over the last few days. He'd been breathing pretty regularly that whole time. "What made you start it up again?"

"Port Angeles."

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to pick out whatever hidden meaning he was eluding to from within his glittering eyes. After several moments, I gave up.

"Why?"

"I decided that I needed to get used to you – especially if we were going to be so often together," a nonchalant shrug.

"Then what's the problem?"

An exasperated roll of his eyes, "I've gotten back in the habit of breathing all the time."

"Just spit it out, Edward!" Letting go of his hands, I crossed my arms over my chest. This whole round of 'beating around the bush' was getting on my nerves. If he'd been breathing normally for the last few days, then I didn't see how it could have caused a problem. We'd been _much_ closer to one another than when I'd emerged from my room.

"I've been losing my desensitization to you all afternoon."

Oh. Now I saw the problem. He'd been with me all morning, cuddled up like a favorite teddy bear until I'd fled outside. After that, our proximity had waned; restricted, for the most part, to brief interactions in the open air. Except ….

"In the car?" The question hadn't come out in the fully-formed arrangement I'd mentally compiled it into, but rather as a half-thought. Even so, he seemed to understand what I was asking.

"It's been more … _insistent_ ever since I got back from my run – though not in a way I couldn't handle," his head shook just once. "Not until we went inside."

"What changed?" It didn't make sense. Had he just finally reached a breaking point?

Chagrin etched itself onto his features, "It's a bit embarrassing …."

"What is?" How was it his fault that I'd made him comfortable enough to breathe again?

Pressing his lips together in concentration, his metallic gaze became vaguely unfocused – as though he were thinking very hard about something.

Recognizing this, I did my best to be patient, to give him time to organize his thoughts before I badgered him for an explanation. After all, he was polite enough to allow me that courtesy on a regular basis.

"I'm not sure I can explain it accurately …," he returned his attention to me, his brows pulled together in frustrated confusion.

I was about to encourage him, to assuage his concern with assurances that I would do my best to understand whatever convoluted elucidations he could provide, but he continued before I had a chance.

"But," his face turned serious. "Have you ever walked by a particularly rank garbage can and then directly into a blooming flower garden?"

Blinking in utter confusion I shook my head. What did garbage cans and flower gardens have to do with his self-control?

"Then it might be a little hard for you to understand the striking contrast. However, that's kind of what happened in there."

"Wait," my mind rolled the far-fetched analogy around in my head as I tried to make heads or tails of what he was really trying to convey. "Are you comparing Julia's cooking to the contents of a trash can?"

Rolling his eyes, "When held in comparison to how _you_ smell, yes."

Narrowing my eyes in affront, I attempted to see past his insult to my aunt's catering; to see how my smelling so much better than the food would affect him so grievously. It wasn't that I couldn't grasp the concept of the flower garden smelling so much better than the garbage can – that was easy. More that I seemed to be missing some important bit of information which would clarify what garbage, flowers, Julia's pot roast, and I all had in common.

_Maybe if I ignore the flowers …._

"Oh," my eyes, which had fallen to absently gaze at my lap, shot back up to focus on his; scanning the fantastical yellow canvas for the tell-tale signs both reason and experience told me should be there.

Both of Edward's sleek auburn brows rose in question as my eyes intently scrutinized him.

No, no black. Though, now that I thought about it, the brilliant golden hue was a smidge darker today than it had been yesterday.

"_Oh_," without really meaning to, I scooted away from him; pressing my back against the arm of the swing behind me, as the obvious solution hit me like a ton of bricks.

At that moment, Edward seemed to catch on to where my train of thought had landed me. His face slowly began to cloud over with emptiness, the glint of his eyes dulling as he readied himself to receive the reaction I'd already subconsciously begun to deliver.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I rasped quietly – like saying the word was forbidden.

"I didn't think it would matter."

"Wouldn't _matter_?" My volume was a little more than I'd been expecting, resulting in an abashed blush and a quickly hushed tone to follow, "Of course it _matters_, Edward – why wouldn't it?"

An emotionless shrug, "I had it perfectly under control."

A soft snort, "Of course. That's why we're sitting out here – where you can't smell me as well."

The corners of his mouth turned down slightly, hinting at an irritated frown, "I'm fine."

Rolling my eyes, I arched one of my brows upward. "No, you're thirsty."

I couldn't believe how long it had taken me to connect the dots. It made perfect sense – if you were able to see things from a vampire-esque point of view. He'd lost my scent, when we went inside; had it replaced by the overpowering aroma – _stench_, in his case – wafting from the kitchen. In all likelihood, he probably hadn't realized that he couldn't smell me anymore – at least, not until we were back together, face to face. No wonder he'd pulled away like that.

"I'm always thirsty, Lillie," his mouth set into a thin line as his tone hardened with insistence.

I frowned, examining his eyes for a moment; concern weighing heavily in mine, "Always?" God, what must that be like?

A short sigh accompanied the relaxation of his facial muscles, "It kind of comes with the territory."

"And it's always worse with me," my tone took a turn for the dismal as I considered how I unintentionally affected him merely with my presence.

His hand, which was laying on the bench between us, reached up and squeezed my knee, "I'm fine, love."

"It'll always be like this, won't it?"

He was quiet for a protracted moment before answering; and, all the while, I could feel his eyes moving over my face, "I don't mind." While his tone was more chipper than before, there were still notes of remorse shadowing his words.

Looking up, I forced myself to meet his eyes, "Edward …." My words stuck in the back of my throat, making it impossible to either speak or swallow them down.

It wasn't fair, none of it. But least of all to him. He, who was so patient, so giving and forgiving. He, who had no idea that the woman he loved was lying to him, was keeping secrets of the most unpardonable kind. If he knew – if he had even the faintest inkling – he might not be so free with his devotion, with his sacrifices. He might choose to liberate himself from the constant agony he was in rather than prolong it for more than the few decades he expected.

Closing my mouth, I tried to swallow the lump of bitter truths lodged in my esophagus. But it didn't budge; only made it harder to breathe. With each second that passed, it grew, added to by the anguished deliberations going through my head, until it actually hurt.

No, it wasn't fair. It was cruel – like dangling a plump carrot forever ahead of a starving horse. He had a right to know; to have all the information available before he committed himself to an eternity of pain.

I _should_ tell him. Give him the chance to see what it was he professed to love.

But _could_ I? Could I look him in the eye and tell him that I'd been lying to him all along? How? How do you tell the man you love that you're not human? That you'll never grow old or die? How do you tell him that, if he really meant to stick around forever, he'd spend the rest of eternity fighting the urge to kill you?

You didn't, for God's sake. There was a reason there weren't 'Surprise! I'm Immortal' greeting cards or instruction manuals on how to break that sort of news. Because it wasn't something you were _supposed_ to have to tell someone. Immortality wasn't meant to exist outside of fantasy and myth.

Then again, neither were vampires or werewolves ….

That was when I realized, sometime over the course of the last few hours, 'if' had turned into 'when'. My veiled inquiry about his willingness to stick around indefinitely had already illustrated just how much I wanted to spend forever with him. But, before forever could begin, the whole truth needed to be brought to light. It wasn't right to hold him to a promise he'd given when only _part_ of the information had been at his disposal. If we were to truly have a chance – a chance to live, a chance to love – then there could be no such secrets between us. The moment of truth had arrived. I either told him or I let him go.

Drawing in a labored breath around the bulging mass of fear and ugly truths still lodged in my throat, I decided.

He must have seen the resolve solidify in my eyes, because his dark brows drew together; a deep 'v' creasing the normally smooth marble of his forehead as his golden eyes began slowly shifting between my own, "What's wrong?"

Without conscious command, my hands slid forward to cradle the one he'd left resting on my knee. Gently, I wrapped my warm fingers around his cool ones, as I tried to come up with the words to say what needed to be said.

I started and stopped what seemed a half dozen times, my mouth floundering open and closed like a screen door hung on uneven hinges. In the end, I settled for something a little shy of the open frankness I had been aiming for; hoping, like with so many of our conversations, that it would find its way to the honesty we both needed.

"This isn't going to change, Edward – _ever_," my fingers compressed over his, the firmness disguising the anxious trembling I could feel beginning to travel through my muscles. Swallowing down the fluttering sensation of nausea creeping up from my hollow, cold stomach, I stared into his beautiful, shimmering eyes; my own carrying the weight of the truth I was trying to convey with my words. "We will _always_ be like this."

So caught up in the endless abyss of complexity that were my own thoughts and formless confessions, I didn't realize how seriously he'd been taking my tense demeanor until his shoulders relaxed with a soft, breathy exhale through his nose. Very slowly, his free hand stretched up to rest against my right cheek, his eyes and words echoing the same gentleness as his careful caress, "I know, love."

For a staggering half second, my heart and head joined together in a frenzy of jubilant bewilderment. He _knew_? But … for how long? Why hadn't he said anything? But, if he was still here, that meant ….

The flicker of emotion that moved across the amber sheen of his eyes, brought my relieved mystification to an end. It wasn't one I'd ever seen on his face, but, rather, on one far more familiar – my own. The bitter acknowledgment of eternal loneliness.

My heart sank, heavy and fast as a rock tossed into a placid pond. He didn't know. If he did, there would be no reason for him to believe he was resigned to an unending life of solitude.

It took me a moment before I could once again reconcile myself to confession, and yet another before I could force words past the truly painful bulge of self-hatred, dread, and resignation that had immediately returned to residence within my throat. Not bothering to conceal the tremulous quavering of my hands, I reached up and gently pried his palm away from my face; the tell-tale itching of my eyes and swelling of my sinuses telling me that waterworks were impending. With a carefully controlled shake of my head, I pushed hoarse words from my lips, "That's not …."

Edward's head snapped up and away from mine, bringing my words to a stop.

Shocked by his sudden reaction, my eyes followed his across the open lawn toward the dark green sedan which was pulling on to the gravel driveway, my aunt behind the wheel.

A softly spoken word I couldn't _quite_ make out slipped past Edward's granite lips, as he turned back to face me, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize she was so close."

Shaking my head, I quickly swiped the heel of my hand beneath my eyes to catch the initial flow of wetness from them. I couldn't have Julia see I was crying – it would raise too many questions on a night which was already likely to be full of them.

"Are you all right?" Edward's voice returned to the soft, cajoling tones he'd been using with me before.

Dipping my chin once in a curt nod, I finished with my maintenance before meeting his eyes. Stupid as it might have been, I almost felt like laughing – in a maniacal, stressed, ironic sort of way.

_Is it _really _necessary to stick it to me from _every _angle, God?_ I thought irreverently. Like I needed any more stressors in my life, at the moment – or _any_ moment, for that matter.

Ochre orbs scrutinized me for several long seconds before their owner spoke, his voice carrying intermingled tones of wariness and worry, "What was it you were saying?"

I shook my head again, rising to my feet as I did so, "It's not important. We should go in." It was a lie, of course. What I'd been saying was of paramount importance. However, it wasn't something either of us should be dealing with right now. Right now, we had dinner with my family. And Charlie.

Though Edward acquiesced without comment, I didn't miss the brief flash of ingenuity that glinted across the metallic hue of his eyes – he wasn't buying it. But at least he was willing to let it go for appearances sake.

* * *

><p>"Cher Dieu, Tout-Puissant!" I thought, as I finally clicked my bedroom door closed behind me; my head leaning backwards to knock softly against it in relieved exasperation. It was <em>finally<em> over. Glancing at the luminescent face of my alarm clock, I couldn't help but disbelieve the time. Eight forty-five. Had it really been only three and a half hours since the debacle had begun? I could have sworn it had lasted _at least_ ten.

Groaning as much from exhaustion as reminiscence, I carelessly kicked out of my shoes; the glittering projectiles looking like slow-moving comets as they flew the short distance to land on the floor next to my still-open closet door. Next went the mint shrug, sailing smoothly through the air only to crumple in a heap on the foot of my bed rather than in the hamper I'd been aiming for.

Irritated, I stomped over to the edge of the bed, snatched up the offending garment, and threw it toward its original destination. When it bounced off the wall and landed on the floor instead, I gave up. Sinking down onto the bed, I sprawled across the comforter, my hands covering my face as the events of the evening played tag with my attention.

Though I knew it wasn't true, I honestly couldn't think of a single other time in my _entire existence_ when I had been so embarrassed or so terrified. Hell, as scary as meeting the Cullens had been, it now seemed like nothing more than a cake-walk by comparison!

_Geeze,_ I thought sarcastically. _Melodramatic much? _Sighing, I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.

I suppose it hadn't been _all_ bad, come to think of it. There'd been no insults or prolonged silences. The police hadn't needed to come break up a fight or investigate a murder. In fact, there hadn't even been a single plate of food thrown. There was constant conversation and plenty of jovial playfulness. By most standards, it would have been considered a soaring success. No, the problem hadn't been in what had happened or was said, but rather in that which wasn't.

* * *

><p>Things had started off relatively well, considering how potentially devastating circumstances on the porch had been. Julia had warmly welcomed Edward with open arms – literally. She'd wrapped him in a tight hug rather than shaking the hand he'd begun to hold out for her.<p>

"Oh!" She'd exclaimed, as she'd pulled away from him, "You're chilled to the bone. You guys shouldn't have sat outside so long in this weather."

And that was the start of it – the 'awkwardness'.

I had felt the nervous tension take hold, settling into the muscles across my shoulders and neck, the instant Edward's satin eyes had met mine; knowing amusement lighting their depths as he'd worked to restrain the smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Swallowing down the butterflies that had been attempting to flutter out of my stomach, I'd quickly turned away from them; busying myself with the distribution of plates and cutlery, instead.

If that had been the worst of it, I could have dealt. I'd have accepted the mild discomfort my knowledge of the otherworldly carried and chalked it up to the everyday normalcy of first-time introductions.

But it wasn't. Far from it.

Shortly thereafter, Charlie had turned up; a store brand bottle of wine tucked beneath his arm and a nervously-anticipatory expression on his face. An expression which had faltered the instant his eyes had landed on Edward, seated comfortably next to me on the loveseat beneath the front window. That new look had hovered somewhere between anger and weariness, pulling his faintly receding hairline down toward his thick brown brows and straightening out the line of his lips better than even a clothes iron could have. Chocolate-colored eyes had quickly shifted from my companion, to me, and back again for a very extended moment; speculation, suspicion, and scrutiny pouring out in equal measures.

But Charlie was a cop – and, apparently, a good one – which meant that he was almost as practiced at masking his feelings as Edward and I were. In the few seconds it took for us to rise from the couch, Charlie's face was once again set into neutrality; the only reminder of his earlier thoughts illustrated by the mild deepening of the creases around the corners of his eyes.

Julia, of course, had missed all of it. She was smiling happily at both Edward and I, while all of that was taking place; motioning us, hurriedly, over to shake hands with the newest addition to our party.

Somewhat mechanically, I'd complied; my movements feeling jerking and forced, as I had extended my hand to the man standing across from me.

When Charlie's eyes had met mine, they carried none of the proof of earlier distrust or analysis. Instead, there was the slightest hint of concern swimming deep within them, the smallest warning of danger mingled with an almost imperceptible recognition of helplessness.

Blinking, I'd just managed to return the rote salutation he'd offered.

The instant Charlie had let go of my hand, he'd turned toward Edward, never even giving me a chance to issue an introduction – though one didn't seem to be necessary.

"You're Edward right? One of Dr. Cullen's boys." There had been a cold, protective tone to Charlie's voice, one which I had never heard there before. It must have been his 'cop tone' – the one he used with criminals. He'd also placed a strange emphasis on the last part, as though he were implying something more than what was said. Like he were hinting at knowledge he shouldn't have.

My heart had attempted to skip a beat, staggering erratically as I sought out Edward's eyes. Considering how protective he was of his family, I couldn't have imagined how he would react to such an upfront challenge.

But he hadn't even skipped a beat, smiling in a friendly way as he'd met Charlie's skeptical look with an expression of polite interest, "Yes, sir. I'm surprised you recognize me."

Charlie had shrugged in a nonchalant way, his lips straying into the mockery of a wry smile, "I'm the Chief of Police, Edward. It's my job to know people."

Thank goodness aunt Julia had taken the statement for a comical one, laughing softly as she extended her hands to take the bottle from her date. Otherwise, the tense half-chuckle that had slipped past my lips would have seemed out of place. As it was, the tittering sound didn't possess the carefree openness of real laughter, but was rather stunted and high pitched; earning me a sideways glance from Edward, as our other companions walked through into the dining room.

At first, I thought it might have just been my own nervous overreactions to perfectly mundane statements and looks. But it wasn't. As we had followed behind Julia and Charlie, I spied the strangely contemplative look on Edward's face; his fantastical eyes locked on the back of Police Chief Swan's head like the laser guide from a gun scope, while his brows drew together minutely.

Part of me had _desperately_ wanted to pull him aside, to ask him if Charlie had actually meant to say the things I _thought_ he had meant to say. But something stopped me, and I couldn't have said what it had been. So I resigned myself to suffering through an evening rife with possibly intentional subtext relating to things only _two _of us should have had any knowledge of, in the first place. All while feigning not only blissful ignorance but also utter contentedness.

Should be easy, right?

Wrong. We didn't even make it to the main course before there was another of _those_ comments.

Charlie was helpfully serving slabs of pot roast from the platter in the center of the table, when it happened. Finished distributing to the rest of us, Charlie had leaned forward and asked, "How many, Edward?"

For the briefest of moments, an expression of disgust had flitted across Edward's face; gone so quickly I doubted anyone else could have seen it. But, just as quickly, he had held up a hand and shook his head, "None for me, I'm afraid." His tone every inch the politely regretful gentleman.

Charlie's left brow arched upward and Julia looked up from the bowl of potatoes and carrots she was scooping out of.

Before I had the chance to say anything – to try to smooth over Edward's lack of appetite with some contrived excuse – my red-headed vampire was doing it himself; his apologetic expression turned on my confused aunt, "It smells absolutely delicious, Ms. Howard, but I'm afraid that I'm a vegetarian."

My mouth popped quietly open, as I watched him deliver this all-too-true excuse. Luckily for me, I managed to snap it shut before Julia cast me an exasperated look. Enacting a conciliatory facial shrug I mouthed a silent 'sorry' in response.

That wasn't the end of it, though. Although Julia had speedily brushed off the need for Edward's apology with a polite one of her own, Charlie had seen fit to comment.

"You're vegetarian?" Though it was a question, he had said it in a way that made it sound more like a statement of disbelief.

Gold met chocolate as the two men had stared at each other across the table, before Edward had answered the _not_-question, "Yes, actually."

With a soft harrumph, Charlie had lowered himself down to his seat, "I'd have pegged you more the _carnivorous_ type, myself."

Already nervous enough, I had raised my water glass to my lips as something to do. That comment, though, had me sucking in a gasp of shock before I had half-finished swallowing.

The chocking, coughing fit that followed worked, in one way, to our advantage – it distracted aunt Julia from the _significance_ behind the words our two male companions were exchanging. Furthermore, it put an end to said conversation; though in a way I would have much rather avoided. By focusing all available attentions onto me.

And _that_ was when the 'embarrassment' began.

It wasn't thirty seconds after I'd stopped sputtering up droplets of water, before Julia catapulted us onto that whole 'uncomfortable revelations' phase of introductions.

"So, Edward." She'd smiled sweetly as she began cutting up the slice of roast on her plate, "You weren't able to talk Lils into going to the dance with you, eh?"

Suffice to say, we were _immediately_ vaulted past the point of no return – at least when it came to that whole 'awkward stories' phenomenon that seems to be an integral part of the 'meeting the family' scenario. Well, at least a 'meeting the normal, _human_ family' scenario ….

"Unfortunately, no," Edward had cast me a significant look – one which made me squirm uncomfortably.

Julia chuckled in a sly, 'I know something you don't know' way and cast me one of _those_ looks. You know, the kind that just _screams_ 'I'm about to completely _shatter_ this person's opinion of your maturity/personality/politics'. "Yeah, she just seems to have this _thing_ about dances. Didn't want to go to them back in California, either," Her look had turned vaguely patronizing – though, somehow, in a good-natured sort of way. "I can remember this one time I heard her and Stephenie arguing …."

"Julia!" My face had probably been a rather spectacular shade of puce, accented by the more-than-likely presence of a mortified expression that had graced it's open-mouthed set. That was a story I _really_ didn't think needed to be shared.

"What?" Wide, dark brown eyes had turned to meet mine; their depths burning with innocent playfulness.

"I really don't think …," Stammering a furtive plea laced heavily with warning. Though _what_ I thought I could have done to stop that revelation from being carried through was beyond me.

However, it hadn't been Julia who'd pressed the topic. It had been Edward. His smooth tenor pitched just loudly enough to drown out my floundering protest, "Oh? What were they arguing about?"

Having directed a mischievous smirk in my direction, my wonderful aunt continued, "Homecoming."

I had groaned, and lifted my left hand to cover my face. The action had only helped to block out the light, allowing the faultless reel of my memories to play; drowning out her playfully embarrassing reconstruction.

* * *

><p>It had been last October – just a few months before the accident. A few months before I lost them …. Normally, Julia would have visited during the summer; June or July – prime beach weather. But she'd put it off, waiting to come up for Alex's birthday instead.<p>

It was seven-thirty on Saturday morning, exactly one week before the school's illustrious Homecoming Dance, and I was standing exactly where I was most Saturday mornings. In front of the range, a spatula in one hand and the handle of the frying pan in the other; the heavily sweet aroma of banana pancakes permeating the air and the soothing, sizzling pop of cooking batter creating a welcoming contrast to the mildly scolding lecture coming from my adoptive mother.

"I really just don't understand you, Lily." Stephenie's exasperated tone echoed around the mostly-empty kitchen as she rolled her beautiful hazel eyes. "It's an important rite of passage."

Rolling my own eyes, I carefully lifted one edge of the pancake away from the skillet for examination, "It's a superfluous tradition, mom." Seeing a perfect golden-brown color, I flipped the fluffy concoction over, luxuriating in the brief intensification of the banana scent that accompanied the movement.

It was still strange to refer to Steph as 'mom' – despite the fact that she was filling that role in my life. Throughout most of my life, I'd steered purposefully clear of using such familiar – and emotionally-connecting – monikers with those who had cared for me. Most of my previous foster parents had settled for my usage of their first or last names. Adoptive parents, however, were different. Each one of them had borne the coveted titles of 'mother' or 'father'; a gift more valuable than they would ever understand. It was as much a term of respect as endearment; marking them as people I would forever love and remember.

"Hardly," She shifted to uncross her arms from over her chest, her face turning away from me. "Oh!"

Looking up, I spotted Julia hovering uncertainly at the end of the hallway.

"Morning, Jules!" Smiling warmly, Steph reached up and pulled a mug out of a nearby cabinet, "Coffee?"

"Sure …." Julia's eyes flickered to me briefly before returning to her sister-in-law's. What she saw must have been reassuring, because she walked less nervously toward the proffered caffeine.

There was a few minutes of blissful redirect – conversation-wise; small talk and the usual host-to-guest questions. Thankfully, Alex emerged from his Saturday-morning stupor just as I slid the last pancake onto the serving plate. Unfortunately, Stephenie wasn't one to be easily distracted – let alone detoured.

Turning her big, beautiful hazel eyes on her husband, she turned her generous mouth down into a dissatisfied pout, "Alex, Lily _still_ won't go to her dance."

Sighing, I turned back toward the cabinets to retrieve plates. She did this every year. Honestly, I think she missed the opportunity to go dress shopping more than she worried about my lack of social interests.

A noncommittal grunt came from my right side, accompanied by the sound of pouring liquid. He'd heard this all before, of course. It was a point of constant contention between me and Steph – particularly toward the end of September. The closer the event drew, the more insistent she became. Despite the fact that she had yet to win.

A few moments of weighted silence followed. Moments in which I was _sure_ she was giving him her patented 'stink eye' – the stubborn, irritated look that she had down to an art.

The weighty silence clung to the room for a few more seconds before being broken by Alex's exasperated sigh, "I don't know what you expect _me_ to do about it, hun. If she doesn't want to go, we can't make her." A quick pause as he slurped another mouthful of coffee, "She'd just go sit in the library – prom dress and all."

Rotating my shoulder slightly, I maneuvered my curls such that they hid my amused smirk from Steph's view. He wasn't far off. Though, the library wouldn't have been my first choice – too close to the actual dance. I'd have gone to the movies. Nobody without a ticket could get in to find me and it had the added benefit of being too dark to see.

"But what's the point of all those dance lessons, if she's not willing to _use_ them?" The irritated note to her tone was getting stronger.

"I _do_ use them," looking up, I adopted my own stubborn pout.

A snort preceded the coughing fit that Alex succumbed to, his jet black coffee splashing over the rim of his cup to splatter the tile floor.

"Recitals don't count, Lily." Steph's hands landed on her full hips, "You're supposed to use them outside of the studio, too."

"It's not like I'd get to use them at Homecoming, either," I grumbled. It was true. I'd seen the movies. High school dances where _not_ about dancing – well, not _actual_ dancing. It wasn't like I'd be able to do an arabesque during _Lady Lumps_ – or whatever it was they were listening too, now. Nor was waltzing or swing a likely candidate, seeing as how I doubted many teenage boys knew how to do either.

"How do you know? You've never even _gone_ to a school dance!" Steph's volume was rising – something that tended to happen, when she felt her opponent was being nothing more than obstinate. Which, granted, I was.

Before I had a chance to retort, Alex interrupted; his words sounding a little more like an aside than an actual argument, "I can't say as I blame her, Steph. I wouldn't want to go, if I didn't have a date, either."

I felt the blood drain from my face as my reply died on my lips. About that ….

"But she _could_!" Steph turned away from me to look back at her husband, "Both Bill and Eric already asked her!"

"You've turned down _two_ boys, Lily?" This time, when Alex looked at me, I could tell his opinion was on the verge of shifting away from supporting me.

Stammering speechlessly for a few moments, "Yes. But it's just so … so _frivolous_!"

* * *

><p>A boisterous bout of laughter had pulled me back out of my memory; my eyes seeking out the tittering woman seated across from me.<p>

"I'm serious!" Julia's hand had come up into view as she'd used it to gesture animatedly, "Not even seventeen years old and she's calling a school dance 'superfluous' and 'frivolous'!"

Blushing even deeper, I had shot a resentful look out of the corner of my eye toward the smirking vampire next to me. I couldn't _believe_ he was encouraging this! Didn't he have _any_ sense of self-preservation?

His metallic gaze had been glittering spectacularly with mirth, his smile wide and carefully arranged so as to limit the amount of glistening white teeth that were showing. Without even the slightest sign of concern, he'd met my glare with a teasing lift of his brows, "I guess I should count myself lucky, then."

My brows had creased together. What did he mean by that?

"Oh?" Julia asked.

Edward shrugged nonchalantly, "I never got a chance to officially ask her. Else I might have shared in the ill fate of her previous suitors."

The look on my face must have been comical, because both Charlie and Julia had snickered.

"Can we change the subject now?" I'd pleaded.

But Julia had ignored me; her dark eyes raking right past me to land on my date, "She's always been like that – mature for her age."

I'd stopped breathing, my eyes skittering immediately to her jovial face. The last thing I'd needed for her to do was start outlining my 'definitely-not-a-teenager' idiosyncrasies for Edward – especially since I hadn't had the opportunity to tell him that … well, I wasn't a teenager.

Turning to Charlie, Julia had continued on with another story – this one just as unwelcome as the last had been.

"The first time we met …."

* * *

><p>The adoption had been final for exactly twelve days. It had been a whirlwind affair – less than nine months between foster placement and the signing of the final document. I was now, officially, Lilianna Claudia Howard, fifteen year old adopted daughter of Alexander Michael Howard and Stephenie Nichole Howard. And, above all, I was happy. For the first time in … well, <em>way too long<em>, I had a family; people I could love and trust – for as much as someone like myself _could_ trust.

School had been out for almost a month, when she came to visit – Alex's older sister. The only member of my new extended family with which I'd had any contact; the rest being either deceased or estranged. Suffice to say, it was a bit nerve-wracking, being introduced around. More people who knew me meant that there were more people who would eventually be looking for me. Or, worse, might eventually recognize me. But it would be worth it, so long as it made my new parents happy. The woman lived in some oddly-named small town in the northwestern corner of Washington State. It would be highly unlikely that I would ever need to concern myself with her knowledge.

Ms. Howard's plane was set to arrive at the airport at twelve eighteen on Thursday afternoon. Normally, Steph and I would have greeted her and ferried her back to the house. But, this week, she was scheduled for a fundraiser in Redwood. Therefore, it had fallen to Alex to take the day off and act as welcoming committee and chauffeur.

The problem was, it had fallen to _Alex_ to act as welcoming committee and chauffeur.

My adoptive father was a brilliant man, generous, good natured, and – above all – an excellent surgeon. Unlike many of his colleagues, Alex worked, primarily, on reconstructions; taking a very healthy number of pro-bono cases each year. He was meticulous and thorough in whatever it was he was working on. Everything else, though, fell by the wayside. Alex was the kind of man who would be halfway through making a sandwich, be interrupted for a phone call, walk away from the counter and never come back. Multitasking was just … beyond him – at least outside of the operating room. He would just get so engrossed in something that he would focus on it to the exclusion of all else. Steph often joked that he'd miss the house burning down around him, if he found something more interesting to look at.

Due to midday traffic – and the ever-dependable presence of accidents along the highway – the absolute latest we could leave the house to make it to the airport on time was ten forty-five. Therefore, by nine thirty, I was dressed, fed, and sitting in front of my laptop, the laser printer beside me quietly _whirring_ as it spit out the directions I'd sent it. All that was left was to harry Alex out of bed and through his morning routine before it was time to leave.

But, when I went to rouse him, I heard the telltale _click, click, click_ of erratic typing coming from beyond the slightly ajar door leading to his home office. It was a rare morning off that saw Alex 'up and at 'em' before ten; rarer still when neither Steph nor I had had a hand in it.

Placing my palm against the smooth wood, I called out softly to him, "Dad? Can I come in?"

The staccato chatter of depressed keys went on as though I hadn't spoken.

Therefore, I pushed the door far enough to allow for my head to peek in, "Father?"

He was seated in front of his computer, his onyx-colored hair sticking out in every different direction and his black-rimmed square glasses resting faintly askew across the bridge of his strong, roman nose. The smallest hint of his tongue stuck out the left side of his mouth as he worked – as sign that he was concentrating very, very hard; his dark eyes fluttering to and fro over the luminescent screen before him, like moths drawn to a flame.

_Uh-oh_, I thought, as I took in his obliviousness. I knew that look. He was working.

"Dad," I raised my voice, cringing slightly as the word echoed off the glass windows behind him without a single reaction from its intended recipient.

_This is _so _not good,_ I thought, taking another less-tentative step into the room. If I didn't get him off of … well, whatever it was he was working on, we'd never make it to the airport on time.

Mimicking the tone Steph would have used with him, I tried another avenue, "Alex."

Nothing.

Groaning, I tried yet _another _option, "Paging Doctor Howard!" Leaning forward, I waved one of my hands in front of the screen he was so fixedly staring at.

"Huh?" Finally looking up at me, Alex blinked, the expression on his face one of clear confusion.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I gave him one of those exasperatedly amused smirks I'd managed to perfect over the last few months, "Forget something?"

Crinkling his brow, he looked back around the room. After a few moments, he answered, "I don't think so."

Sighing, I leaned forward and pointed at the digital clock in the bottom right corner of the screen.

He frowned, "So?" Now that I'd redirected his gaze back to it, his eyes were beginning to flit across the text I'd pointedly ignored.

"Julia?" I hinted, lifting my hand back up so that it interrupted his view once more.

He blinked, then his eyes went wide as he _finally_ looked at the time. Then he frowned again, "I've got over an hour, Lily."

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back, "Didn't you want to shower and shave?"

Reaching up, he ran his fingers along his jaw; the dusting of whiskers making a hollow rasping sound as he did so. Pursing his lips for a half-minute as he thought, his eyes scanned once more across the screen. "All right," sighing, he rolled his head around on his neck. "Give me ten and I'll get in the shower.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, I nodded, "Okay. You want me to come back and remind you?"

"No," He gave me one of those looks that says 'I know when I'm being patronized by a fifteen year old'. "I'll be fine."

Shrugging, I exited the room. It wasn't really my place to argue with him, even if his actions _were_ going to make us late. He was supposed to be the parent in this relationship.

Deciding that it would be more prudent – and also productive – to get out of his hair, I grabbed the keys to his Mercedes off the hook in the kitchen and fetched my purse. If we were going to be late anyway, at least I could alleviate it a little bit by gassing up the car.

Thirty minutes later, I was pulling back into the driveway. It would have only been twenty, if I hadn't had to drive to the _second _nearest station to avoid filling the car while the truck was replenishing the supply – one of Alex's pet peeves. Stepping in the front door, I was immediately worried by what I heard. Nothing. Whenever someone was in the shower, you could always faintly hear the water moving through the pipes. Pausing, I listened even harder, trying to pick out the humming buzz of an electric razor. Nope.

Pushing the door behind me closed, I dropped the keys and my purse onto the nearby end table and started for Alex's office. As I drew closer, I could once more hear that annoyingly persistent clicking that proved I'd been right. He was still on the computer.

Doing my best to keep the irritation out of my tone, I called out for him again, "Dad?" Not waiting for a reply, I went directly inside.

My adoptive father had apparently been turned into a statue – albeit one capable of typing. He was still seated in exactly the same position as he'd been when I'd left him, right down to the askew angle of his glasses.

_Zut__!_ Mentally throwing in the towel, I brought my left hand up and used my knuckles to rap heavily upon the wood door.

"Hmm?" He didn't even look up, just kept reading and typing.

"Weren't you going to shower?"

"Yeah," his words were empty, unfocused; like he was simply replying without thinking. "Give me a few."

Peeking over at the face on my wristwatch, I noted that it was eighteen after. There was _no way_ we'd be leaving on time. In fact, we might not even be leaving _close_ to on time.

"Have you eaten anything?" I was doing my best to keep my tone neutral. One of _my_ biggest pet peeves was being late. Ironic, really, considering I really didn't have anything _but_ time.

"After the shower," he muttered.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I left the room. It'd be well over an hour before he'd be ready to leave. That was an entire hour that poor Julia would have to sit in the terminal waiting for us.

Rubbing the bridge of my nose between my left thumb and forefinger, I had to almost laugh. She'd almost be better off taking a cab ….

I paused. Glancing once more at my watch, I made a few calculations. _Or, maybe …._

Making the decision in the next split second, I walked right back into Alex's office, "Hey, dad, can I borrow your phone?"

* * *

><p>"So there I was," Julia had been chuckling, her face a cheery shade of rosy red and unshed tears of mirth glistening in her dark eyes. "Halfway through dialing my brother's number on my phone, when someone taps me on the shoulder – 'bout scared me to death, I can tell you." She'd winked conspiratorially at me, conveniently ignoring the look of abject horror that I had been giving her. "And, when I turn around, there's this girl standing there glancing between me and the phone in her hand."<p>

Groaning, I'd buried my face in my right palm. Of _course_ she couldn't have just told the story in a simple, concise way. That would have been so much less uncomfortable for me ….

"So, I'm standing there, looking at this girl who's nearly as tall as I am, and wondering why she looks so familiar. Took me a good minute before it hit me and, by then, she'd already asked me if my name was 'Julia Howard'," another chuckle. "Of course, once I figured it out, I asked her where Alex was. And what does she say?" She had shaken her head and wiped at the corner of her right eye, "'He got a little _sidetracked_.'"

Charlie had snickered then, his eyes rolling in a way that clearly said he'd known Alex.

"She walks me out to the car, loads my bags, and drives me all the way back to her house – _fifteen years old _and not even three months with her license! I'm, of course, clinging to the door handle in terror as she's weaving in and out of traffic like she hasn't a care in the world."

"Hey!" I'd looked up then, disbelieving. I had never, in my entire life, been a reckless driver. In fact, I'd been driving especially careful that day. And, as _I_ recalled, she'd just sat there with her eyes closed humming a tone-deaf rendition of _Over the Rainbow_.

She'd waved her hand at me in a playfully dismissive sort of way and continued, "And when we _finally_ make it to the house, she walks me to this tiny little office room and – lo and behold – there's her father, staring intently at a computer screen and utterly oblivious to the world around him." She had snickered, shaking her head just enough that the short strands of her russet hair danced like the wind had been tousling them.

* * *

><p>"Alex?" Julia's voice was patiently smooth and yet brimming with amusement, her tone set at a place somewhere between chiding and indulgence.<p>

Snorting softly, I looked up and met her dark eyes – eyes that were nearly a carbon copy of her brother's, "I tried that already – doesn't work, when he's this engrossed." Without further explanation, I walked over and dangled my adoptive father's cell phone in front of his face.

He started slightly, his pupils dilating themselves as he attempted to focus on my face.

"Here's your phone back," I smiled warmly. "Thanks."

He blinked and looked down at the phone.

That was when things went from amusing to hilarious.

Alex's big brown eyes widened like he'd seen a ghost as his hand reached up and snatched the small blackberry out of my hand. With his other, he adjusted the positioning of his glasses and scrutinized the screen. After a moment, his eyes flickered to the computer screen.

"Damn it!" He muttered as he began moving like a whirlwind. Without hardly a glance around, he'd snatched up his wallet and was headed out the office door. "We're late!" He called over his shoulder. When he got to the door, Julia was still blocking it; a mischievous smile tweaking up the corner of her mouth as she surveyed her brother.

"Ohp," Alex stopped short. "'Scuse me."

And then he walked right past her. Without even realizing that the woman he was late in picking up was standing _right there_, in his house – _in front of him_, even.

Before I could collect myself enough to say something, he was gone; the front door clicking closed behind him as he hurried toward the car. Realizing that he might, in fact, go driving off to the airport without ever understanding what had happened, I pulled out my own cell and started dialing.

But it wasn't necessary.

The front door quietly opened and I heard his flip-flopped footsteps coming back in our direction. When he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped and looked at his sister, then at the face of his phone, then at his sister once more.

I tried not to laugh and only barely succeeded.

"When … how …?" He started, but then seemed to think better of it; his eyes once more bouncing between the clock on his phone and the unrestrained smirk on Julia's face.

"About ten minutes ago," She answered smoothly – though the words practically dripped with mirth. "And Lily picked me up."

"And you were just gonna let me drive off without saying anything?" He looked at me incredulously. Even so, he wasn't really upset. More embarrassed than anything else.

Adopting a very innocent expression, "You didn't give me a chance."

"Hmph," one side of his mouth drew down into a frown. Then he looked up, shock splayed unrepentantly across his face, "Wait! You drove my car into the city?"

* * *

><p>.<p>

* * *

><p>Rolling over, I buried my face into my comforter as one hand grabbed for a pillow to hold over my head. The image of Edward's raptly attentive expression was blazing behind my squinted eyes; my imagination effortlessly providing destructive commentary as backdrop.<p>

If _only_ she hadn't told him _that_ story. It was the worst example of amusingly embarrassing tales that she could have selected. At least the others had less potential for disturbingly accurate revelations. That one just showed how … well, how _not_ like a teenager I truly was. How many fifteen year olds – heck, how many _seventeen_ years olds – would bother being so unselfish as to do their parent's chore for them?

My hand floundered over nothing for a few swipes, fingers grazing my fitted sheet rather than the pillow I had been hoping to find. Rotating my face upward, I saw that one of my pillows was missing. Frowning, I sat up; trying to figure out _why_ one of my pillows would be missing. Disquieted by the disappearance, I glanced around the room. Everything else seemed to be in place ….

Slowly standing, I walked over to the bathroom door and pulled it open. All of my stuff appeared to be there. But, somehow, something still felt wrong.

Turning back around, I scanned my room once more. My computer was still lying on my desk, Steph's jewelry box was on top of the dresser, and the clothes I'd worn this afternoon were still draped over the back of my chair drying ….

_Wait a minute …._

Spinning around, I flicked the light on in the tiny bathroom and scrutinized the entire room. Edward's clothes were missing.

Frowning, I squatted down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink; thinking that he might have concealed them there so that neither my aunt nor Charlie would find them. But they weren't there either.

_But where …?_ I thought as I stood and returned to my room; my eyes falling on the single pillow decorating my bed.

That was when I noticed it – the folded piece of paper that was peeking out from beneath the back edge of my lone remaining pillow.

Stepping forward, I tugged the scrap out from its hiding place and flipped it open. Two words were written in a flowing, elegant script that I would have recognized anywhere: Edward's handwriting.

_Sweet Dreams_.

Only then did I remember our little arrangement – my pillow for my privacy. Shaking my head, I had to wonder at the simplicity of it – particularly after such an evening. Even after everything he'd heard – after everything he'd learned or surmised – we were still okay.

Shaking my head, I folded the little note back up and placed it on my end table; a small smile of contentment tugging at the corners of my mouth. Then I gathered my toiletries and slipped into the bathroom, my mind switching channels to a more whimsical setting. If nothing else, there was this: _'Tomorrow is another day'_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, I hope you all enjoyed this little trip down Lillie's memory lane. I felt like I hadn't given you enough of a glimpse into her life with her most-recent adoptive family. So, I rectified it. Anyway, I'd love to hear what you thought. I'm working on the next chapter and those who review this chapter will receive a preview of it a week before it's posted to FFN.

**Some Food for Thought:** Now that Lillie has decided to tell Edward about … well, _everything_, when will she get the chance? And, when she does, what will he say? Did anything Julia said make an impression? Also, what was up with Charlie?

* * *

><p><em><span>Translations:<span>_

_(FRENCH)_

_Cher Dieu Tout-Puissant! - Dear God, Almighty!_

_Zut! - Damn!_


	23. Chapter 23: Monday

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own _Twilight _- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you _HATE Twilight _or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N: I'm back! ::ducks all the random heavy objects being lobbed in her direction:: I know, I know, I'm sorry. This story should have had a new chapter MONTHS ago. But, in my defense, I've had a serious case of writer's block that basically incapacitated me as far as working on this story goes. However, I've already gotten several pages of the next chapter done, so it seems the monster has been banished for now. Anyway, enough mindless chatter from me. On to the story!**

_Summary:__ Having placed herself squarely onto the 'us' path with regards to her relationship with Edward, Lillie must now face the consequences of her decision. Starting with her first day back at school. After the surreal quality of the last two days, how will she cope with the scrutiny of her peers?_

**NOTE:**** Those who review this chapter will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on** **FFn. (Please ensure that your Private Messaging Capability is turned on in your Account Options, else I cannot send you the preview).**_  
><em>

**_Special Author's Note:_**_ I'd like to thank Serendipity10 for her insightful reviews - a few of which gave me some ideas for events in this chapter. Also thank you to Rosa and Kaycee-x John Cenaholic for your reviews of Chapter 22. Overall, a thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed, favorited, or alerted my story. Your encouragements keep me going - even if at a snail's pace._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23:<strong>

"If you were anything other than indestructible," I said, settling into the charcoal leather of his passenger seat; my eyes giving him one of those 'irritated but in a bemused sort of way' looks. "I might have been driving myself to school this morning."

The crooked smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips lent a mischievous air to the twinkling light dancing in the glittering sheen of his eyes, "Whatever do you mean?"

Clicking my belt into place, I leveled a stoic stare at him, "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Mr. Cullen."

Were his memory even a tenth as good as I knew it to be, he'd have known. _I_ certainly had not forgotten. And, while I might have forgiven him the unsubtle coaxing which had led to my uncomfortable evening, I was not about to let him think it was something I intended to dismiss out of hand.

His smile ticked up a notch as his right hand rose to trace a path of fiery ice from my temple to the edge of my jaw and slowly forward until his thumb smoothed itself gently against the flesh of my lower lip, "Was it really so bad?"

In the instant our gazes locked, that playful sparkle behind his began to change; shifting from innocent cajoling to something far more _intense_. My breath caught as I processed the quality behind this new expression; lips left parted, the words they were meant to utter forgotten amidst the fluttering upheaval caused by his look.

When I didn't answer immediately, his smirk blossomed into a victorious smile; granite lips descending to press themselves softly against my own. They didn't quite make it, though.

Sometime during the few seconds it took for my brain to swoon over the promise gleaming within his eyes and the moment his face began to move toward mine, I managed to regain control of myself. Considering that I hadn't even been aware that I was _trying_ to break the 'not-quite-mind-control' hypnosis, the abrupt resurface to lucidity was mildly shocking. Blinking rapidly, I lifted my hands to press against his stone chest and turned my face away from his.

"Stop," I insisted, my voice wispier than usual as I reacquainted my lungs with the influx of oxygen.

He ceased moving immediately, but his fingers didn't leave my face, "What?"

Shaking my head, I pushed against him harder; a sense of relief washing over me as I felt him comply.

"What's wrong?" He sounded worried, the usually smooth tenor of his voice hitching in concern.

Once I felt he was far enough away, I reached up with one hand and removed his from my face. Then, taking a few deep breaths to steel myself, I looked back at him, "Please don't change the subject like that."

His expression had been a mixture of confused concern before I'd spoken. Afterwards, it morphed to include more confusion than concern, "Like what?"

Pursing my lips, I attempted to read the thoughts flickering behind his eyes; to see if he was being honest in his confusion or merely using it as a way to mask his failed manipulation. What I saw wasn't really conclusive – though his perplexity appeared genuine. Though I'd warned him of this once before, he might still be unaware of how deeply he affected people – specifically, me.

Deciding I would rather give him the benefit of the doubt – at least for now – I tried to explain what was happening in as unaccusatory a way as possible. "It's not fair for you to use your abilities on me every time we disagree about something."

His brows drew together, the pale granite of his forehead creasing into a sharply defined 'v'. "My abilities? But you know I can't …."

Seeing that I'd used the wrong word, I interrupted him for a clarification, "Not mind reading – though I'm certain you'd use that, if you could." Sniffing in a wry way, I continued, "I mean your intensity."

His head pulled back slightly in a way that made it obvious I wasn't being nearly as clear as I thought I was, "My intensity?"

Lifting my hands up, I used my fingers to create little air quotes, "Your 'dazzle'?"

For a fleeting moment, a little of the curiosity cleared up; like he'd at least grasped _some_ of what I was talking about. But, just as quickly, it was renewed, "But you know I can't really help that."

Sighing, "I know you can't help it _being_ there, but we both know you could rein yourself in a little more – specifically when we're arguing."

He frowned in a displeased sort of way, "It's not like I'm actually trying to …."

Raising a skeptical brow, "Yes, you are. You're not trying to be malevolent about it, but you are doing it on purpose."

He stopped talking, just gave me one of those weighing looks; the kind that showed he was thinking about what I said, trying to come up with something to offer in rebuttal.

Figuring I would rather he didn't have the opportunity to come up with one, I went ahead with my own, "How would you like it if I did that to you, whenever I didn't like what you were saying?"

He frowned, "I suppose I wouldn't."

"Exactly. So please don't do it to me."

It took a moment but, eventually, he nodded his titian head, "I'm sorry – though I was honestly just trying to be playful."

Dipping my own head in acceptance of his apology, "Yes, but give me the chance to have my say – silly play argument or not, I have a right to do so."

Lifting my left hand up, he placed a chaste kiss on the back of it, "You're right." Then, with a smirk that attempted to reclaim some of its former playfulness, "I'll try to stop being so dazzling."

Rolling my eyes, I took my hand from his and pushed at his shoulder in good-humored exasperation, "Guess I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

A soft chuckle, "Yup."

* * *

><p>For the first time in what seemed an impossibly long time, I felt completely grateful that our minor tussle had made us a few minutes later for school. The reason behind this? It limited the number of gawkers standing around the common areas as Edward walked me to class. It wasn't like I wasn't already <em>accustomed<em> to the ridiculous level of attention my unimportant existence at this school garnered me. Nor was the extra scrutiny which accompanied my association with a Cullen – particularly the _single_ Cullen – something wholly new. I'd already grown used to the feeling of eyes following me nearly everywhere I went. But today, the searching looks I was receiving felt more weighted, intense; like there was infinitely more behind-the-scenes analysis going on than normal. And there probably was, considering the obvious display of a new development in our relationship – specifically Edward's hand entwined casually with my own as we strode, somewhat hastily, across the campus toward the building where English classes were held.

"Everybody is staring," I breathed in an embarrassed, irritated way, my eyes quickly skipping from yet _another_ curious face as we walked.

"Not everyone," he said, just as quietly. Then, lifting our clasped hands slightly, he motioned toward several students who were busy playing hacky sack.

Not really feeling appeased, I cast him a grimacing look and continued to try _not_ to meet anyone's eyes.

He chuckled softly and squeezed my hand once in encouragement. "Look at it this way," he paused long enough for me to peek over at his face, "it could be worse."

Raising a skeptical brow, I said the one thing I should not have said – the one thing you _never_ say when someone tells you that things could be worse. "How?"

We'd reached the doorway to my building by then, and I turned to face him fully.

Swooping down without notice, Edward wrapped his strong arms around my waist and lifted me up onto my toes, as his mouth claimed mine in a slow, luxurious kiss.

As usual, my breath whooshed out of me at the unexpectedness of his assault; leaving my shocked brain to focus on the sensual titillations from my lips rather than on the prudence of engaging in such an action in so public – and undesirable – a location. Like the few times he'd kissed me before, our mouths felt melded together; lips moving through the choreography of a well-rehearsed dance. One which always seemed to end too soon.

When he finally pulled away, my head was swimming in a wash of sensory overload, unhindered desire, and oxygen deprivation. Easing me back onto my own two feet, Edward's fingers lingered at the small of my back; their coolness seeping through the fabric of my shirt to raise goose bumps on one of the few places his kiss hadn't already done so. Through the haziness still occupying my skull, I heard him whisper, "_Now_, everyone is looking."

Nothing works quite so well at sobering you up, as knowing you're the focus of every single person within eyeshot. Eyes widening in mortification, I unclasped my hands from around his neck and used them, instead, to push against his chest, "That …! You …!" I was speechless. And embarrassed.

He didn't let go, just leaned in to press his marble lips against my temple, his voice pitched just loud enough that I could hear it over my own befuddled statements, "You did ask how it could be worse." There was no missing the joviality in his voice; that teasing edge which always had a way of sending chills down my spine – though not in the eerie, bone-chilling way.

"Rhetorically!" I hissed, still pushing futilely against him.

Another chuckle, "Could be worse."

I froze, my breath catching as my eyes rose up to stab daggers at him. "Don't. You. Dare," I warned. Considering his brashness already, I couldn't be sure how much further he'd be willing to go just to prove a point.

He smiled innocently, "As you wish." Then he released me, one hand rising to brush once beneath my chin. "I'll see you at lunch."

* * *

><p>"You are such a little liar!"<p>

The hand that grasped my left arm exerted enough pressure to bring my forward momentum to a faltering stop; the laws of physics managing to persevere just enough to twist me a half-turn toward the owner of both the assaulting extremity and the annoyed voice which had, apparently, been addressing me.

Blinking once in confusion and affront, my eyes lowered the five or so inches that were required for them to meet the upturned blue gaze of Jessica Stanley. Finding her there, wearing an expression which weighed strongly of disappointment caught me off guard enough that I couldn't seem to find the righteous indignation I should have had at her accusation. Instead, I settled for that age-old standby, "What?"

"_It's not like that_," she mocked, her voice taking on qualities which were definitely not her own – though _who_ they belonged to was not readily apparent.

"What are you talking about?" I certainly had no clue. Especially seeing as how this was the first time I'd spoken with her since Friday afternoon.

Rolling her eyes, she let go of my arm and crossed hers over her chest, "Like you don't know."

"I _don't_ know." My brows were raised about as far up my forehead as they were physically capable of going, while I stared down at the curly-haired minx before me. If she didn't start making sense – and _soon_ – she was going to find herself on the raw side of my temper. I'd already had one of _those_ mornings – what with a fight with Edward and an unintentional socially-embarrassing make-out session already under my belt before the first bell had even rung.

Another overly-embellished eye roll, "Uh-huh." Then her hands settled themselves on her denim hips, "_Edward Cullen_. Ring a bell?"

I blinked, taken aback. "What about him?" Had he done something to get on her nerves this morning?

"Oh, come on!" Her already high-pitched voice eked up to an even loftier octave, hands coming up and gesturing in a frustrated way. "You're _dating_ him now?"

It was a half-second before I answered. Not because I didn't understand what she'd practically yelled in my face – or the poorly-concealed resentment which colored her words. But because I wasn't exactly sure what to say. It was true enough that Edward and I were together – though, personally, I wouldn't have categorized our relationship as 'dating' but, then again, my version might have been a bit over the top as a first-time news flash. So I hedged, "Sort of …."

How _did_ you explain what Edward and I were to each other to someone so … out of the loop? Hesitantly optimistic? Stubbornly oblivious? All but promised and yet nowhere even close?

"_Sort of?_" Her halo of curls bobbed animatedly as she cocked her head to one side. "Sucking each other's faces in front of the whole school only qualifies as 'sort of'?"

I shrugged a bit awkwardly – she had a point, "It's complicated?"

The warning bell chimed once, it's buzzing, nasal tone sounding for all the world like the end of a boxing round. It didn't seem to have the same effect on Jessica, though.

Without so much as a disgruntled sigh, she reached out, seized the sleeve of my coat, and began hauling me toward our trigonometry class, "No, it's simple. Either you're dating him or you're not."

Deciding it wouldn't really do much good to snatch my arm away from her death grip, I followed beside her unenthusiastically. Jessica just had this way of … well, of breaking down the infinitely complex realities of life – or, in this case, _afterlife_ – into the underwhelming minimalism of a black and white checkerboard. Maybe it worked for her, but I preferred to look at things in shades of grey – though perhaps that was because I'd lived long enough to realize that nothing was ever simply black or white. Right, wrong, moral, depraved; they were all applicable in varying degrees dependent upon which side you were on – or, more often, which side had the better chance of winning.

"Fine," I groaned, slumping into my chair with the same level of ennui with which I'd trailed her to class. "We're dating."

She claimed her seat with more dignity – and pompousness; her back haughtily straight and her face wearing a patronizing expression, "And you didn't feel the need to share because …?"

_Because I didn't think it was any of your business,_ I thought sourly. Even though it was true, I realized that basically calling Jessica out as a nosey, over-interested third party wouldn't be a good idea – especially if I wanted to maintain our current level of camaraderie. So, in the interest of civility, I opted for another avenue, "Because it's not a big deal." The last syllable belied the dishonesty behind my words, the pitch lilting ever so slightly higher to turn my confident, nonchalant statement into a half-question. Because it was a big deal – the _biggest_ deal, in fact.

She frowned, "Of course it's a big deal, Lily. Edward Cullen hasn't dated _anyone_ at this school before. Ever." It almost sounded like an accusation. Like it was somehow _my_ fault that he hadn't elected to date before I'd arrived.

"Neither have I," I said, trying not to allow my outrage over her thinly veiled blame to leak through into my words.

She waved her hand dismissively, "Besides, this is the sort of thing you're _supposed_ to share with your best friend."

I had to stop myself from reacting the way I wanted to – which was to allow my jaw to drop open as I scoffed at her self-proclaimed title. Sure, we were friends and all – pretty good ones, all things considered – but _best friends_? Hardly.

So, what I did instead was feign ignorance, "It is?"

"Duh!" She shook her head in a patronizing way and I had to work to keep my face from adopting the same frown Alex would have worn in my position – the 'I know when I'm being denigrated by a teenager' frown. "I told you when I started seeing Mike."

I guess that was true. Then again, Mike wasn't nearly the news that Edward seemed to be around here – or me, for that matter. Maybe I should have mentioned it to her – called last night or something. It was just that this whole 'teenager in love' thing was new to me. But the last thing I wanted to do was alienate those friends I _did _have by acting like such a loner.

Sufficiently chagrined, I offered an apology. "Sorry, Jess. I didn't really have time to think of it. It just sort of … happened." God wasn't that the truth.

"_Obviously_," one well-plucked brown brow arched upward. "The question is: _When_ did it happen? _You_ said he was going out of town for the weekend."

Right. I had said that. Crap.

"He was …," I began, my brain finally turning on to start working up an alibi – for both of us.

"_That_," she moved her index finger in a vague gesture that was oriented toward the window. "Was not a 'first kiss' kind of kiss, Lily. _That_ was a 'we already worked out the kinks' kind of kiss."

I felt heat rush up my neck to color my cheeks. God, had it been _that bad_?

"Well … no, it … wasn't …." Could I have _sounded_ any more embarrassed?

"So when _was_ the first kiss?" A flash of intense interest lit the crystalline azure of her eyes as she leaned forward, one hand coming to rest beneath her pert little chin.

"I …," I fumbled around, trying to decide what I was actually _willing_ to tell the perpetual gossip performing my interrogation. One thing I was sure of was my distinct aversion to relaying _any_ of the events of Saturday to her – at all. Sunday wasn't really much better. After all, who gets introduced to their significant other's parents on the second date? And dinner with Charlie and Julia? Right out.

"Come on! Out with it!" Though her volume had dropped, her words held no less needling than before.

Squirming uneasily, I bit my lip and tried to come up with something – _anything_ – reasonable to say. 'Shut up and drop it' seemed to be growing more and more appealing as the seconds ticked by.

Her lip-glossed pout took on tones of irritation as I continued to sit there unansweringly, "Well?"

"I don't know!" I said, my voice coming out a little louder than I'd intended in my flabbergasted state.

"Do you have something to share with the class, Miss Howard?" Mr. Varner's booming baritone echoed through the room, sending chills of dread down my spine.

Swallowing down the bile I felt rising in the back of my throat, I looked up to the front of the room and met the eyes of my teacher. _Oh, no_, I thought as I took in the look of irritation on his face. Why did that have to happen in Mr. Varner's class? The only thing worse than drawing 'delinquent activity' attention from my trig teacher would have been doing so with my harpy of a French teacher.

"Well?" He said, arms crossing over his chest and brows reaching upward in an attempt to toupee his receding hairline.

The tittering sniggers of several people around me made me want to bolt out of my seat and out the classroom door. This was … _awful_!

Shaking my head, I managed a meek, "No, sir."

His dour glare stayed on me for a few more long, uncomfortable moments before he turned back to face the chalkboard.

As soon as his accusing eyes were off of me, I let out a sigh of relief and slumped down in my chair; purposefully _not looking_ at anyone around me. This was ridiculous. It felt like everything that could possibly go wrong was doing so.

_Maybe I should just go home now,_ I thought, half-serious. If things kept up along their current trend, I was absolutely certain that I didn't want to see where they ended.

Things didn't get any better as time went by. The passing period between math and French was spent as was to be expected; in an uncomfortable attempt to answer as few of Jessica's needling inquiries as possible. Which basically meant that I stammered, blushed, and mumbled my way through succinct responses pertaining to a single, irritatingly-consistent topic: my private life as it involved Edward.

"_When?" _Saturday evening.

"_Where?" _While we were taking a walk in the woods – there was no way I was going to mention the meadow. That was ours.

"_Was it like a date?"_ Sure, why not. Even if I had explained that our meeting hadn't been under the pretenses of romance, she wouldn't have understood. To Jessica, a planned outing with a member of the opposite sex was a date, plain and simple.

'_Why?'_ The _actual_ wording for this had been 'why hadn't he gone away for the weekend like he planned'. But there was no missing the subtext, the question she was _really_ asking: 'why had he chosen _me_'. My answer had been a simple 'I don't know' and had been more in answer to her underlying query than her vocalized one. Because I still really didn't understand it myself. We'd talked about it a little, in passing; but the full reasoning, the logic or emotions behind the choice hadn't really been adequately explained. And, just maybe, that was a good thing.

"_How?"_ At first, this question had confused me. What did she mean 'how'? Surely she'd been kissed before – or at least seen a movie where someone had been kissed. The basic concept was pretty universal.

"Uh," I blinked down at her, having come to a stop outside my French room door. "I don't know … he just … _kissed_ me." God, did she really need me to explain the mechanics?

Another one of her exaggerated eye rolls, "Yeah, I get that. What I want to know is _how_ he kissed you."

I could feel the heat creeping up my throat to color my cheeks, the physical proof that I wasn't exactly enjoying this line of discussion, "I'm not sure I know what you mean …." I hedged.

An irritated scoff, "Come on. Was it just a quick peck or was it more like a full-on make-out session?"

My jaw popped open in abject shock. I couldn't _believe_ she would ask me that! How was it even _remotely_ any of her business? Was that really the sort of thing girls talked about nowadays? After a few seconds of enduring the expectant look on her face – one which clearly said she was due an answer – the only thing I could come up with was an indignant, "Excuse me?"

"Don't look at me like that," she condescended. "It's a simple enough question. Was there tongue or wasn't there?"

"Oh my God!" I admonished, absolutely appalled by the relative ease with which she'd posed such a personal inquiry. "I am _so_ not discussing this." Then, turning to retreat into the classroom, "I'll see you later, Jess."

"Lily!" She tried to snatch my arm, but I managed to sidestep away from her.

"No," I said firmly, giving her an unmovable look.

"Ugh," she groaned, her eyes rolling upward again. "Fine, I'll drop it."

Nodding my head, "Good."

"But, just so you know," her brows pulled down into a disapproving frown. "Everybody already saw you guys kiss. There's really no need to be such a prude about it."

It was a damned good thing that she walked away at that moment, because I was fully tempted to launch into a chastising reproof of my own. Twisting my lips into a frustrated purse, I bit the inside of my cheek and turned to stalk into the room. That 'going home' option was looking better and better as the day progressed.

In an attempt to deny Fate the opportunity to slough any more unpleasantness off onto my already-overflowing plate, I slouched down in my chair as far as it was feasible for me to go, propped my unnecessary textbook up on its end in front of me, and focused all my attention on reading the chapter 'Verb Conjugation for Beginners'. As you can imagine, this lasted for all of about fifteen minutes; during which I found two spelling errors in the text and ultimately decided that the author's method of instruction was most likely to cause confusion rather than retention. Well, what else did I expect from this class? It's not like I was taking it because I needed to brush up on my introductory linguistic skills ….

_Vous savez__,_ Rolling my head around, I aimed both my eyes and thoughts upward toward a higher plane. _La mort par l'ennui est à la fois cruelle et très inefficace …._

When I didn't receive an immediate response – not that I truly expected one in the first place – I dropped my face forward once more and frowned at the text on the page before me. Come to think of it, boredom _was _preferable to some of the other events of the morning; specifically those initiated by a certain curly-haired acquaintance of mine. But, then again, dealing with the embarrassment and discomfort of answering unsolicited personal queries at least had the benefit of feeling like I was _doing_ something. Sitting here, ignoring the teacher and the rest of my classmates, made each minute that ticked by feel like a year.

Sniffing, I had to admire my ability to be situationally hypocritical. I both wanted my privacy and to be entertained by external sources. There never seemed to be a middle ground with me.

_When it rains …,_ I thought ruefully.

As though in echo of my restless thoughts, the ever-grey sky let forth a single bolt of lightning somewhere in the near distance; the low, rumbling growl reaching my ears just as its flash of blindingly white light drew my attention to the single high-set window across the room. Between the foggy condensation on the inside and the constant cascading flow on the outside, the glass was almost opaque. Even after the gravelly din of the lonely strike had faded into silence, I continued to stare at the pearly, opalescent membrane; my sensitive ears straining to pick out the steady cadence of the raindrops striking the exterior bricks.

_Tink, tink, tink …_, a constant repetitive sound; soothing in its predictable monotony. Like the rhythmic lull of a long familiar tune.

_Tink, tink, tink … tink, tink, tink …._

I don't know how long it took – a few seconds, a few minutes. Regardless, I should have known better than to succumb to the temptation, particularly in public. I had enough trouble dealing with the myriad of repercussions when I was alone. Not that any of that logic had even the faintest chance of registering – let alone processing – before my subconscious acted; somehow managing to increase the weight of my eyelids tenfold for every measure the rain drummed out.

_Tink, tink, tink … tink, tink, tink … tink … tink …._

* * *

><p>It had been hours since I'd stumbled my way up the mud-slicked hill to see it standing there; doors open, roof intact, and that dusty patch of hard-packed earth beneath which showed not a single hint of moisture. The sight of those rain-darkened wooden walls felt like a dream come true. For days uncounted I'd been on the move, steadily angled north and traveling at a pace that left little room for the respite my exhausted body and mind so desperately needed. But there hadn't been another option. Each shaky step taken had worked in my favor, cementing yet more distance between me and the unholy beasts that were no doubt behind. The fear of that pursuit – of the absolute certainty of unimaginable horrors which awaited should I be caught – had driven me onward, well past the point at which I should have collapsed. Well past the point at which I should have died. I had not the faintest idea how far I'd gone, how many miles I'd managed to place between myself and <em>them<em>. There had been no time to gather supplies, to consult a map. Only time to run.

But my desperate vie for freedom had reached its end the moment I'd lain eyes on that building. I could go no further. My aching body had just enough strength left within it for me to stumble through the open doors, drag myself up the worn rungs of the wooden ladder, and to finally crawl to the far corner of the space before collapsing, face first, into the prickly remnants of a hay bale. As my thoughts darkened into obscurity, I listened to the raucous assault the torrential rains were making on the pitched roof mere feet over my soaked head. In my last moments of consciousness, a series of sounds penetrated my waning psyche, both familiar and comforting; the soft whickering whine and muffled clacking of hooves which told me there was a horse resident in one of the stalls beneath me.

_That's good_, I thought drowsily. _At least I'll get some warning …._

Then the complete emptiness of exhaustion rolled over me like an avalanche and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

But my solitary sanctuary was short lived.

An exceptionally loud grating sound broke through the thick blanket of my exhaustion, bringing me immediately back into the present. Even sleep-addled and groggy as I was, there was no mistaking that noise. The humongous barn doors were being moved. As my heavy-lidded eyes snapped open, my fear surged up to wash over me once more; the adrenaline and terror working to tighten my throat such that breathing was difficult and swallowing impossible.

A hasty scan of my surroundings told me two things. First, it was after sundown. And, second, there was nothing nearby which I could use to defend myself with. One factor of my surroundings did work to my advantage, however. The hayloft, which had been shadowy during the daylight hours, was now cast into almost total darkness; my lonely corner even more so being so far from the door. Even better was the presence of several stacked bales between myself and the sole point of entry to the upper level.

"You're sure?" A man's voice, clear as a bell despite the quiet volume which had been used, cut through the lingering sounds of the fading storm outside.

My throat seized the rest of the way as my eyes shot toward the doorway. From as far back as I was, I could not see the ground floor. However, for the first time since I'd awoken, I could make out the upper edge of illumination which crested the boards near where the ladder leaned. Someone had come inside.

"Absolument, monsieur," answered another voice; this one both gruffer and sharper than the first.

I froze into utter stillness, barely capable of drawing breath. Part of me was terrified at the prospect of being discovered. While the men didn't sound familiar to me that meant almost nothing. My time in Italy had not lent itself well to recognition of or familiarity with all of my captors. But, at the same time, another _very small_ fraction of myself was jubilant. French! The second man was speaking French – not Italian! I'd made it. It didn't matter that I hadn't the slightest clue _where_ I was in France. All that mattered was that I was home.

The scuffing thud of booted feet accompanied the bobbing sway of the pale illumination as whoever held it ventured further into the open space below. After a few steps, they came to a stop and I could see the circle of light race around the room, pausing now and again such that its weak emanations could brighten the darkened corners of the large stable. My eyes followed the glowing beam of light with surgical precision as I held my stiff, aching muscles into complete immobility; stubbornly ignoring the quaking trembles of exertion and fear which had begun to ripple along with rigid lines of my frame.

"Hello!" The single word was exceptionally loud, like the crack of a horsewhip; clear and concise, though without the expected harshness.

Even so, I jumped at the sound as much as I might have had the owner lashed me physically; a small, frightened gasp managed to slip past my tightly clamped lips as I attempted to regain the statued demeanor I'd lost to the tumultuous shaking now racing across my body.

Again that voice rang out, its tone nonthreatening, "Il ya quelqu'un?"

_Oh, God!_ I thought, my consciousness finally breaking down the meaning of his question. They knew I was here.

That was when I lost the last vestiges of control I had. Up until that moment, I'd managed to rein in my panic enough that my presence was relatively well concealed. Now though – knowing that it was only a matter of time before they found me – I could restrain myself no longer.

Within a matter of seconds, my all-fours position was no longer maintainable due to the weakness and uncontrollable shaking of my arms and legs; causing my knees to collapse and my body to curl in on itself in a sad mockery of the fetal position, arms wrapped desperately across my torso as though their meager presence could provide some sort of protection against the inevitable. But the complete failure of my form to hold on to any imitation of dignity was not the worst of it. That _dis_honor hung solely upon the hysterical, gasping sobs which wracked me from head to toe; their volume limited only by the oxygen the stunted pants could bring into my system between keens. The thudding of my pulse and the whooshing disjointedness of my breathing filled my ears, blocking out all other sounds. But only for me.

I'll never know whether they came up to search on their own or whether my histrionics had finally made my presence known. It didn't make a difference, really; the result was the same. The instant that the bulb of that brilliantly shining torch crested the distant floorboards, instinct won out over panic; setting me scuttling for the nearest corner where I resumed my balled-up position and prayed, between the sobs of terror my hands now muffled, that I could dissolve into the wooden wall behind me.

The colorfully silhouetted forms of two grown men soon followed the light source. Other than being present, the first hardly warranted notice. Being neither tall nor short, broad nor slender, he gave the impression of typicality. His clothing was nondescript – light-colored cotton shirt, sleeves rolled to just below his elbow, tucked into darker linen pants, and held up by suspenders – and his hair shone a sandy brown in the pale light. When he moved, however, there was a slight bowing to his spine; not like he was worried about hitting his head – there was no risk of that, given his stature – but more like he had spent much of his life doing manual labor. The second man, however, couldn't be overlooked. Tall enough that he had to slouch over to keep the gleaming strands of his close-cropped ebony hair from brushing the sloped ceiling, his lean physique gave the impression of confidence and strength. Unlike his companion, his clothing could only be described as dignified; a charcoal-colored vest buttoned over a snowy shirt that was topped by a narrow burgundy tie, perfectly-tailored charcoal slacks, and black shoes so highly polished that they shone despite the spots of muddy water that dotted them.

For several long seconds, neither sought to retrieve the discarded torch still lying next to the ladder; instead taking time to sweep their gazes across the darkened scene. Each time a set of eyes raked over my hidden form, I felt it; like a breath of glacial wind that set the dirty hairs on my skin on edge and brought my racing heart to a painful, stuttering stop. Those precious half-seconds the only reprieve from the hyperventilating bawling my shivering hands only just managed to stifle.

When the smaller one turned away from me, back toward the ladder, I thought I was saved. For just a brief moment, I wondered at the stroke of luck that had swept down to help me stay hidden from the searching eyes of these two strangers.

But I was not so fortunate. Instead of seizing the first rung of the ladder, when he leaned down, he wrapped his hand around the thin metallic handle of the torch. When he straightened once more, that damnable lamp was making its rounds along the opposite wall; unwelcome beam of antiseptic white light stretching forth to illuminate even the darkest corners of my shadowy sanctuary.

Gasping in abject terror, I turned my dirty face away from the brightness that made my eyes burn in pain, and used the fingers of my hands to probe at the splintered wall next to me, desperately searching for some crack or hole through which I could escape. But there wasn't anything there. My sleep-deprived brain had selected this particular hiding spot for this very reason. At the time, it had seemed best; a sole point of entry meant that I wouldn't have to worry about _something_ sneaking up on me from behind. What I hadn't had the mental faculties to consider was that only one entrance was synonymous with having only one exit. I was trapped.

When my frantic searching turned up nothing but a few splinters imbedded into the flesh of my fingertips and beneath my broken and grimy nails, I risked a quick scan of my surroundings. I had to blink several times before my strained eyes could adjust to the change in light around me. What I saw made me stop breathing, to focus wholly upon one remaining lifeline.

The moment that torch had begun moving, I had been certain that my cover had been blown wide open. That there would be no missing my filthy form huddled against the far wall; my long, damp, hair matted with clumps of mud and bits of old hay, bare feet blistered and covered with healing cuts, and my once-white dress torn to shreds and stained beyond recognition. But what I saw was that the torch was only powerful enough to illuminate the area at which it was pointing; its ring of dull residual light stopping a good two feet from my cowering form, it's parameter skewed and broken by the small pile of hay bales stacked less than a yard away. My fixation, however, wasn't on the proximity of that glaring circle of luminescence, but rather on the short swath of deep shadows which stretched out from the nearest side of that stack. Dark black shadows that could surely hide me from the prying eyes of those who had invaded my lofty refuge.

I made the decision the instant my brain had processed what my eyes were seeing. Summoning reserves of strength and speed I hadn't known still existed within my starving, fatigued body, I rotated myself until I was crouched over my haunches and sprinted forward toward that blessed gloom.

Unfortunately, providence was not fully on my side. By the time the floorboard beneath my left foot let out a sharp groan of protest, it was too late to change directions; my weight was already committed and my destination could no longer be altered.

"Qu'est-ce que c'était?" His words were in a hushed stage-whisper, but it was impossible to mistake who had spoken – the same man who'd been doing most of the talking thus far; the one who had asked if someone was there. My guess was that he was the well-dressed one.

"Quel était quoi?" The second man asked, his voice maintaining the same unconcerned volume that he'd used on the lower floor.

I froze into complete and utter immobility; hoping against hope – and all forms of luck I both possessed and didn't – that doing so would keep the protesting board from making any more noise. It worked and for several long seconds, the room fell utterly quiet; as though my two unwanted guests were doing likewise.

After nearly a minute had passed without any more noise, I heard the two men begin to move again, one of them muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Letting out a sigh of relief, I allowed my muscles to relax a small measure. My reward? Another loud creak, this one from a different board somewhere beneath me.

A loud shushing sound came from the other side of the stack I was hiding behind, quickly followed by compliance from the other man who had been stamping around rather loudly. I also tried to comply, but the floor beneath me was having none of it. Without any provocation from me, the boards beneath me let out another groan.

"Que bruit – n'avez-vous pas l'entendre," the first man asked again.

This time, his companion seemed to take a moment to listen. A moment in which yet another complaint was voiced by the wooden floor beneath me; this one in the form of a quiet grating-like sound which was reminiscent of scratching.

Closing my eyes, I fervently tried to hold as still as possible; beginning to realize that my moving here was not as good an idea as it had seemed at the time. Aside from that was the distinct feeling that the floor I was crouched upon wasn't going to sustain my weight much longer.

"Que?" The second man responded, sounding a little exasperated. "Il n'y a rien – juste un rat."

I _almost_ wanted to let out a laugh at this. _Yes! It's just a rat – nothing to see here._

"Un rat?" The first man asked skeptically, his voice coming from closer than it had the last time he'd spoken.

"Yes, yes – a rat. Barn is full of zem." The man's English was broken and thickly accented by his native language.

The first one was _much_ closer now, otherwise I would not have been able to hear his muttered retort, "When was the last time you saw a _rat_ climb a ladder?" The end of his statement was punctuated by his tall, partially-shadowed form stepping around the hay bale I was hiding behind.

Frightened by the unexpected appearance of my pursuer, I jerked backwards; eliciting a much louder series of moans and groans from the floor. All of which, naturally, caught his attention.

Cast in shadow as he was, with the torch light emanating from the other side of the stack, I couldn't see his eyes when they landed upon me. But I could feel them; like two heavy weights that had been balanced upon my tense shoulders, making it nearly impossible to either breathe or move.

So I did the only thing I could do. I let out a wheezing squeak of fear.

His head pulled back several inches as he stared at me before he shook it faintly, a soft rumbling noise coming from somewhere in his chest. Then, without a word to me, he turned his face away from mine, back toward the lamp, "Hey, Herve! I think I found your rat!"

The moment his hand started to reach out toward me, I panicked; collapsing backwards away from him onto my butt and trying to scamper back toward my original corner.

His arm changed position, hand raised straight up as though he were approaching a spooked animal. And maybe that's what I was, just a frightened animal; so lost to fear and instinct that I couldn't recognize the danger of shifting so much unexpected weight onto a floor that had already demonstrated its intolerance of it. The words he spoke next were drowned out by the thunderous crack of wood breaking.

And I began to fall.

* * *

><p><em>Translations:<em>

_French:_

_Vous savez__ … l__a mort par l'ennui est à la fois cruelle et très inefficace …. - _You know ... death by boredom is both cruel and very inefficient ….

_Absolument, monsieur - _Absolutely, sir

_Il ya quelqu'un__? -_ Anyone there?

_Qu'est-ce que c'était__? -_ What was that?

_Quel était quoi__?_ - What was what?

_Que bruit – n'avez-vous pas l'entendre(?)_ - That noise – don't you hear it?

_Que__? … __Il n'y a rien – juste un rat._ - What? There is nothing – just a rat.

_Un rat__?_ - A rat?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you all enjoyed! Please remember to review.<strong>


	24. Chapter 24: The Other Shoe

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight _**- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight _**or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I'd like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (Angel of the Night Watchers) for taking this on. I couldn't do it without you!

_Summary: Sometimes things just don't go the way you thought they would. Then again, sometimes they go _exactly _t__he way you thought they would. After one of _those _kinds of Monday mornings under her belt, Lillie's day is about to get a whole lot more complicated._

NOTE: Those who review this chapter will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on FFn.** (Please ensure that your Private Messaging Capability is turned on in your Account Options, else I cannot send you the preview).**

**Special Author's Note:**_ I know I'm sounding a bit like a broken record here, but I would again like to thank Serendipity10 for her reviews. The 'back-and-forth' PMs that always spawn from my posting of a new chapter have given me so many good ideas that it keeps me up at night - much to the chagrin of my poor husband (Sorry, honey, I love you!). I would also like to thank the anonymous reader who took time to review my story: I'm glad you're enjoying it so much! And, of course, thanks to those who are reading this. For, without you, I would be lost._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24:<strong>

A jolt of electrifying agony erupted from the bones in my left elbow as they impacted with the hard linoleum, traveling along the nerves of my arm to reverberate in waves of throbbing anguish when they reached my shoulder and wrist; effectively nullifying the sharp crack of pain that was the side of my head striking the floor soon afterward. Curling up into a tight ball, left arm held protectively against my chest, elbow cupped in the palm of my right hand, I clenched my eyes tightly closed; rolling onto my back and rocking back and forth in time with the smarting aches.

"Merde!" I groaned, the word imbued with both the pain I was in as well as the healthy swash of embarrassment that was building as the tittering snickers of my classmates broke through to fill my ears.

"Lilianna Howard!"

In that single shriek, I realized my mistake – not only in vocalizing such a sentiment in this particular class, but also in daring to fall asleep during her lecture. Madame Goldfarb was not best pleased.

Sincerely feeling that this was a situation best faced on even ground – well, at least not while on one's back cradling an injury – I forced myself to sit up; my head spinning wildly in protestation as the sensitive spot I'd no-doubt bruised throbbed painfully in emphasis of its displeasure with such an action. I'd barely cracked open my eyes, when my teacher launched into her reproving lecture.

"That kind of language is _not _tolerated in my classroom! Is that clear?"

"Yeah, I get it," I said, feeling each syllable of her screeched diatribe reverberating inside my sore skull. Then, without thinking the next part through adequately, I continued, "No need to scream."

"Excuse me?" Her horrible Boston-esque accent thickened as her volume dropped to a tenth of what it had been previously, making it difficult for me to hear over the sound of my own blood pumping. But not impossible.

Continuing with my upward momentum, I rose shakily to my feet; rubbing the tender spot on my elbow before unthinkingly repeating myself, "I _said _there's no need to scream. I can hear just fine."

That bulbous little nose rose pompously into the air as the already-miniscule line of her lips flattened into obscurity, "I will not tolerate such rudeness, Miss Howard. See me after class. Perhaps some time in _detention _will teach you some much-needed respect."

That single word echoed around inside my head for several long seconds before I was able to process it. But, when I did, I repeated it in a confused, unbelieving way, "Detention?"

Raising one poorly-groomed blonde brow, Mme. Goldfarb answered me, her expression the very picture of self-righteous indignation, "Yes, Miss Howard. Detention. Now take your seat unless you'd like to sign up for another."

My mouth hung open in utter disbelief, but my instincts managed enough sense between them to force me down into my chair. I didn't look at the board. I sat in my seat, staring unseeingly at the scratched Formica desktop trying to understand what had just transpired.

I couldn't believe it. _Detention_. I'd never been in detention in my _entire life_! I was always the model student – quiet, obedient, intelligent. What had _happened _to me? When had I turned into this acerbic rebellious person? I was acting like … like such a _teenager_! When had this even _started_?

But I already knew the answer to that question. _This _had all started the day Alex and Steph had died. The day the life I had just started to rebuild had toppled down around my head. The day my century-long life worth of reason and experience counted for nothing. The first time since being one that I had actually felt like a lost little girl.

I stayed quiet for the rest of the period, refusing to look at anything or anyone. Not because I was worried I'd see their amusement at my expense, but because I was worried they'd see the hurt of remembrance in my eyes. When the bell rang, I took my time stowing my textbook before rising with solemnity to receive the little pink slip from my teacher; the one that reminded me that I wasn't nearly as perfect in my facades as I had once thought.

Too mortified to dare a glance at the record of my well-deserved punishment, I shoved the thing in my front left pocket without meeting her eyes and made a beeline for the door. When I finally tugged it open, I came face to frenetic-face with Edward; dark brows pulled down at the center, mouth set in a straight, ironing-board line, and eyes intently scanning my own.

I'd barely stepped through, when his cool hand reached up to press softly against the spot on my head which had connected with the floor, "Are you all right?"

Not really wanting any comfort – it _was _my own damn fault, after all – I shied away from him, "I'm fine."

Catching my mood, he dropped his digits to his side and proceeded to just look at me; mild reproach coloring the concern already present in his features.

_Great_, I thought sourly. That just made me feel worse.

When he neither said anything more, nor moved to direct us to our customary lunch table, I grew more agitated.

"Will you stop looking at me like that," I snapped. "It's not like I haven't whacked my head on the ground before. Didn't kill me then."

At the venom in my tone, his head pulled back a fraction of an inch in surprise. After a few moments of weighted silence – moments in which my conscience started to needle me about my reprehensible rudeness – he spoke, "True. Though you did wind up hospitalized."

The carefully controlled tone of his silken voice – utterly reasonable and not at all caustic – deflated the burgeoning balloon of anger that had been building up within me. This was ridiculous. What good would starting a fight with Edward do? None. He wasn't to blame for the stupid antic I'd pulled in French class. All arguing with him would achieve was worsening my already-poor mood – and Lord knew I didn't need any help in that regard.

So, closing my eyes and massaging my right temple with my fingertips, I let out a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, Edward. I'm just … it's been one of _those mornings_."

The edge of one cool finger brushed the length of my jaw and his marble lips pressed themselves against my other temple, "I know, love."

Of _course _he did. He'd probably been watching the whole time.

Shaking my head in exasperation, I cracked open my eyes so that I could meet his golden gaze, "You know, if you don't start paying attention in your classes, you might land yourself in detention right along with me."

He chuckled quietly, that crooked smile tweaking up the left side of his generous mouth, "That's the plan."

Frowning, I pulled back to study his eyes; to see if he was serious. And he was. Beneath that playful teasing, there was this air of unabashed sincerity.

"Aren't you supposed to be drawing as little attention to yourself as possible?" I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to convey that earning himself a detention wouldn't be conducive with a low-key persona.

He shrugged, "It'll be worth it to spend more time with you."

I rolled my eyes, "It's not like we'd be spending time cuddling or anything, anyway. We'll probably have to clean the school grounds or something." If memory served, that's what kids at my last school had to do during detention.

"Nope," a sly grin. "You're going to be hanging banners and streamers and doilies all afternoon."

I blinked, "Doilies?"

He just smirked wider.

"Why would I be hanging _doilies_?"

He laughed before claiming my hand and starting to pull me toward the cafeteria, "You'll see."

Five minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, he still hadn't expounded on what precisely _'doilies' _and detention had in common – aside from myself. The only progress I'd made with my plaintiff pleas was the almost as vague assurance that Jessica would fill me in on Friday morning. Now, though, our conversation was taking place across the scratched plastic surface of our normal cafeteria table.

"Fine," I said, my tone angling for disinterest rather than peevishness. It was the sixth time he'd refused my request for clarification.

"Fine?" He cocked his bronze head to one side and gave me an examining look.

"Yeah, fine. If you don't want to tell me, I can't make you." Inspiration had struck just moments before.

"Uh-huh." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, his tone clearly saying that he wasn't buying my sudden disinterest. "Then why is it you look like the cat that got the cream?"

Oh well. So much for suppressing my smug smirk.

I shrugged nonchalantly, "Because you're not the only person I know with an uncanny ability to predict the future."

Edward's head tilted back and he laughed aloud. Even though he'd kept the volume quiet, the liquid tenor chuckles drew the attentions of the people sitting at the three tables nearest us. When he'd finished, he shook his head from side to side while giving me one of those bemused looks he so often wore whenever I'd surprised him intellectually, "Resourceful, aren't you."

Another shrug, "Occasionally."

A wry shake of his head, "Well, you go right ahead and ask Alice. Just remember, I'll see her again before you do."

This time, my shrug was mostly facial, "Yeah, but she seems to like me more."

A deep, hearty chuckle, "Maybe. But she doesn't have to live with you."

I lifted my right brow in challenge, "True. But you have to live with Jasper, too."

He frowned, "That's a low blow."

"No," I smiled innocently, "_That _is called strategic advantage."

His face turned contemplative for a moment, his darkening eyes scanning my own. Then, it was wiped clean of all emotion, "Okay."

Now it was my turn to scrutinize him. A quick search of his eyes couldn't tell me what he was thinking, so I had to ask. "Okay what?"

"Okay. Go ahead and ask Alice about the future." His voice was just as unemotional as his face.

Sucking on my lower lip, I tried to think of reasons why he would capitulate so easily. The only thing that came to mind would be sabotage. "What's the catch?"

He shrugged, "No catch. You go ahead and spend the afternoon at my place with Alice."

It took me a moment to realize what he'd left out, "And where will you be?"

Another unconcerned gesticulation, "I'll go to the hospital."

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he meant, "And do what, exactly?"

Without warning, his stoic façade faded away to be replaced by a sly knowingness, "I'll go ask Julia if she has any more stories she'd like to share."

My jaw fell open in shock.

He chuckled but continued to meet my eyes.

"You wouldn't …," I started, but the look on his face made me realize that he was serious. "That's not … _fair_!" I stammered.

"On the contrary. It's a very fair trade. In fact, it's a little weighted in your behalf. You get to know about your future – something that most people would pay a great deal for – and I get to find out a little more about your past."

"I …. You …." My jaw worked as I tried to come up with words that were a good representation of what I felt at that moment.

"Yes?" His smile was self assured.

"That's blackmail."

"No," he smirked. "That's called _strategic advantage_."

_Goddamned son of a …_, I thought spitefully at him. He knew how uncomfortable I'd been last night. Threatening to seek out _more _of those stories was the only advantage he had over me. Though, perhaps not for the reason he was expecting. I wasn't really worried about him finding out the things I had done in my time with Alex and Steph, but about his piecing together the uncharacteristically _adult _habits I had such that he realized my biggest secret. His discovery of the truth needed to happen because I'd disclosed it, not because he'd happened upon enough incriminating evidence to make the conclusions.

"Oh, come now." Scooting his chair closer to mine, he reached forward and ran his cool hand down the right side of my face. "Pouting won't change the fact that I got you, fair and square."

"Threatening to inflict yet _more _embarrassment upon me is hardly fair, Edward." I grumbled, pulling slightly away from his hand and refusing to meet his darkening eyes. All right, so I was being just a little childish. But, hey, I was due a little childishness.

Instead of pulling his hand away at my rejection, he placed it beneath my chin and exerted enough pressure on it to force me to turn my face toward him, "Was it really so bad?"

I cast a glare up at him, intent on telling him that _'yes_, it _had _been that bad'. But the concerned look on his face had me stopping in my tracks; mouth hanging ajar as I reconsidered.

"No," I conceded, my eyes dropping to stare at the empty space between us. "I guess not."

"But it still bothers you."

I shrugged, noncommittally, "Yeah, I guess."

"Why?"

I opened my mouth to explain, only to find myself without adequate words.

"Lillie?" My name was spoken in a tone which was somehow both prodding and reassuring at the same time.

"I …." Biting my lip, I raised my eyes to look at him as I tried to come up with something that made sense while, at the same time, not blowing the whole 'I'm not actually as young as you think I am' thing open. "I don't know," I hedged. "It's just …."

"Just?"

"I'm not used to other people knowing things about me," I lowered my gaze again – this time in chagrin. The statement, though vague, was accurate even with regards to the secrets I was still keeping from him. I _wasn't _accustomed to having people know about me. I was used to living in as much obscurity and isolation as I was able to. Having something so _personal _shared with someone I barely knew – even if that person _was _the man I loved – felt … intrusive.

A soft breath of air flitted across my face, the smell of Edward carried on it.

"It's all right, Lillie," he nudged my face upward again. "I'm not going to judge you."

Hitching my left shoulder up to meet my earlobe, I nodded tentatively while not quite meeting his eyes, "I know."

"Can I let you in on a little secret?"

The question was unexpected, drawing my eyes upward to meet his. That was when I noticed the look of amusement on his face. I frowned, "I thought you weren't going to judge me."

"I'm not."

"You're laughing at me," my voice was dry, acerbic.

Rolling his metallic eyes, he sighed as though in exasperation, "I'm amused – not judgmental."

"Being amused implies that you've _judged _my situation to be humorous."

A soft scoff, "That's quite an extrapolation."

"Are you denying it?"

He leveled those piercing eyes at me, one bronze brow arched, "Do you want to hear the secret or not?"

"Probably not," I sighed. "Though I doubt it much matters."

Shaking his head in feigned exasperation, he leaned forward until our foreheads were almost touching, his fantastical eyes locked meaningfully on mine, "You have _nothing _to be embarrassed about."

I sniffed, disbelieving, "Yeah, try telling my pride that."

He chuckled softly before sweeping down and kissing the tip of my nose, "If you thought your aunt's stories were bad, then I'm glad everyone at the house was so tense when you visited yesterday."

Wrinkling my nose at the cold tickling sensation, "Yeah right. You're 'Mr. Perfection'. I bet the only dirt they have on you is whatever they've swept up off the floor after you've gone hunting."

That same brow arched upward again, a note of challenge hovering behind the shining hue of his eyes, "'Mr. Perfection'?" There was a definite tone of mockery in his voice. One which made me feel a little bit like a tantrum-throwing child.

"You know what I mean," I grumbled, looking down at my hands.

"And you know that's not true," his words were so quiet that I almost missed them amongst the din from the other students in the cafeteria.

It took looking up into his stoic face before I understood what he meant. Right. The people he'd admitted to killing.

This time, when I frowned, it wasn't full of cynicism but ruefulness, "You couldn't help that, Edward." I reached forward and placed my hand over the top of his, "You were too new to control yourself."

His titian hair danced slightly as he shook his head, "Not all of them happened when I was new." Those eyes never _quite _met mine, despite the fact that he was looking at my face.

I could feel my brows crease together, feel the tiny v-shaped pucker forming between them. What did he mean that not all of them happened when he was new? After a few seconds, I understood. He'd explained it yesterday, on the porch. _Always thirsty_. Even if he hadn't ever run into someone else who had appealed to him as much as I did, there had to have been times when he had lost the forever-tenuous hold he kept on his humanity.

"It was an accident," I said quietly, leaning forward and trying to catch his gaze with my own. "You didn't mean to hurt them."

His pale lids slid shut slowly as he exhaled heavily. When they opened again, the golden irises focused onto me with an intensity and power I hadn't ever experienced from him before. The effect was so captivating that I found myself unable to look away, to break the suddenly deep connection between us.

"No," there was a quality to his smooth tenor voice which clung to my psyche, a weight of truth and confidence that was undeniable. "I did want to hurt some of them."

I sat there, eyes unnaturally locked with his, as I tried to make sense of the series of words he'd spoken. Several prolonged seconds passed before my brain was able to organize them into a single coherent statement – and yet more before I realized the reason why they hadn't immediately made sense. He hadn't spoken them in English, but rather French: _Je voulais faire du mal à certains d'entre eux._

The declaration, in and of itself, had been so unexpected, so counter to the person I knew him to be, that I had failed to allow the translation to take place automatically. Even now, when I could recognize the words and knew their individual meanings, I found myself struggling to _understand _the whole compilation.

What did he mean? Everything I'd known of Edward – either through my own experiences and deductions or vicariously through the memories he and his family had shared with me – decried the pronouncement to be false. He was a kind soul, a good man despite the baser urges and instincts imposed upon him after his change. He subscribed to the vegetarian lifestyle of his immortal father. He'd saved my life. Those weren't the actions of a person who could have ….

"I … don't understand." The words were strangely hollow, given the fervent nature of the thoughts that had precluded them.

"Yes, you do," back to English.

I shook my head mechanically, "No." Even as the word left my lips, I began to feel that it wasn't true. Something was niggling at me, some thought or conclusion that was fighting to break free from the darker edges of my mind. Instinctively, I already knew that I didn't want to hear whatever it was that it was trying to tell me.

This time, the language switch didn't throw me for a loop; I could immediately follow his discourse, "Je voulais tuer certains de mes victimes."

Again, a rush of that same 'on the tip of the tongue' sensation washed over me, raising goose bumps along the skin of my arms. And, again, I purposefully pushed the thought away. "Erreurs – ils étaient tous des erreurs," My voice was little more than a whisper; a whisper filled with the desperation and naivety of someone who knows better but won't admit it.

He didn't even bother to shake his head this time. Instead, those inhuman golden eyes held onto my own, "Non."

The muscles in my chest constricted and I had to gasp in a sharp breath at the feeling of my heart skipping a step in its steady cadence. And still I was refusing to allow that needling contemplation to surface into full lucidity.

I tried to shake my head, but the muscles across my shoulders and neck were so tense that my attempts produced little more than a tremble, "But … Carlisle said ….."

"Je n'ai pas toujours vécu avec Carlisle," that silken voice had grown deeper in tone while, at the same time, becoming emptier of emotion.

It was a few heartbeats before his words sunk in. And, when they did, it led to more confusion than clarity, "Mais, tu as dit qu'il ait eu tu changé – il eut changé tout de vous!"

No response.

In the following moments of silence, I tried to scan those bronze eyes for the clarifications he wasn't vocalizing; for some hint of context or explanation that would help me to make sense of the dark declaration he'd chosen to provide. But it wasn't there. The person whose face I was staring into looked like Edward but, at the same time, there was something … _alien _about him. And I didn't like it. I wanted _my_ Edward back. The open, slightly condescending, playful man that I'd come to know and love.

"Why didn't you live with Carlisle? Were you separated?" Lord knew that I hoped that was the reason he'd been away from the man who had turned him. That some sort of disaster or tragedy had driven the two of them apart when he was still too young to control himself, when his new instincts were still powerful enough to make him act outside of the conscience he now listened to.

His smirk was more sardonic than I would have preferred, "In a way."

I swallowed convulsively as my instincts processed the look, a chill running down my spine and that tiny little nagging impulse grew just a bit more insistent. And I waited for him to expound.

"I _chose _to live on my own for a while." His choice of emphasis was careful, like he'd changed his mind about what he wanted to say at the last moment.

The impulse surged once again, its tide coming closer and closer to the invisible line of understanding inside my mind. "Why?"

"Carlisle has always been the most …," a short, thoughtful pause. "Well, he's never really struggled with his sense of self as much as the rest of us. From the beginning, his revulsion over what had befallen him drove him to extraordinary feats of strength and control never before seen in our kind." His volume was so low that it forced me to actually lean in toward him, despite my dislike of the change I perceived in him. "Even the oldest of our kind were morbidly impressed with his … _resilience_."

I shivered, understanding that 'resilience' was meant to indicate his unwillingness to feed from humans.

"As for myself," another pause, "I didn't come through with quite the same level of devotion as he had to his philosophy."

I didn't risk talking. The unwanted thoughts I was working to hold back were _so close _to the surface; their shadowy machinations violently crashing against my mental fortifications. It didn't take the threat of drowning beneath such horrible revelations for me to know that I wanted him to stop speaking, to cease proffering truths I hadn't wanted to conceive might exist beneath the warm exterior I'd oft been privy to. Nor were the weak echoes of burning sensation that lapped across my scarred skin necessary. The cold, hollowness of my nervously clenched stomach and the thousand volts singeing my nerves were more than adequate.

But I didn't get my wish. The stranger wearing Edward's face just kept going.

The smirk on his marble lips was both wistful and menacing, lacking even the barest hint of remorse, "It's not exactly _natural_, after all. Rather like expecting a shark to shun seal in favor of sea kelp. Unrealistic. Particularly for the young.

"Not that I didn't _try_ – I did. I stayed with them for years before I struck out on my own. But this lifestyle wasn't something that I had wanted for myself. It was so much more difficult to fight – like climbing up a mountainside using only your hands. And giving in …," those yellow eyes slid closed and he drew in a deep breath through parted lips. When they opened again, I saw the desire, the lust that swelled the dark pupils to more than double their usual size, "Giving in was as easy as falling onto a feather mattress. And the _flavor_ … I can't describe how much better the flavor was. Heaven – or as close as I imagine our kind ever gets. I couldn't believe something that felt so good was wrong."

_Whoosh__._ The wall I'd been working to hold in place came crashing down with a weight and finality that was irrefutable; and I felt myself drowning beneath the wash of darkness behind it.

I'd been wrong – so very, _very _wrong. No one who could so desirously reminisce about the murder of a human being could ever be a good person. I was in love with a murderer – _a monster!_

The pain was excruciating; a sensation not unlike the rending open of the invisible wound of loss in the center of my chest. It was like Edward had thrust his cold, stone hand straight through my ribcage, clenched those icicle fingers around my heart hard enough to crush it, and then slowly tore it out. All while I was conscious.

Lies. It was all lies. I had never really known him at all. I was in love with a lie.

I couldn't breathe – there wasn't any point. One-hundred and nine years I'd lived on this planet, surviving conditions which should have killed me time and again. And still I lived on – had begun to believe I would always live on. But here I was, sitting dead center in the middle of a room full of teenagers in a town of absolutely no consequence whatsoever, and, for the first time, I felt I was dying. Torture, starvation, bleeding – all done at the hands of vampires – none of it had done the trick. Turned out that all I had needed was a lie.

One sweet little lie, whispered in tones too low for even my ears, _"I'm safe. I'm good."_

And, like a fool, I fell for it. One-hundred and nine years of experience that told me his kind were dangerous had counted for nothing. I'd ignored it. And for what? Less than a week of imagined happiness? No. I'd traded a week of blissful ignorance for unwarranted hope. The first blood of a broken heart for illusions.

I should have known better. I'd steered clear of even the remotest possibility of romance for my whole life just so that I could avoid this very circumstance. Because, subconsciously, I had always understood that I couldn't handle this kind of betrayal. The loss of my family – of Alex and Steph – counted as nothing compared to this. Their departures hadn't been intentional. But _this_ …. Edward Cullen had befriended me, courted me; used the poisoned honey of his words to coax from me secrets I had never before shared with _anyone_. I had trusted him – trusted him enough to love him, to try to tell him _everything_.

Never again. If I survived this heartache, I would never again trust another soul.

_Another soul …_, The thought sliced through my consciousness like a serrated knife, tearing deep into my memories to dredge up something I had all but forgotten.

* * *

><p>"Ancora pregate?" Her high-pitched lilting voice was my only indication of her presence.<p>

Having expected my solitude for at least the next two hours, I jumped in surprise, eyes shooting open and hands immediately falling from their clasped position.

An amused chuckle flitted past rose-painted lips just as I found her petite form leaning casually against the door jam.

Recognition was immediate despite the fact that she rarely deigned my presence worth acknowledging … unless I'd done something wrong. As such, I quickly adjusted my upright stance into one of submission; dipping myself into an elaborate curtsey and lowering my gaze to stare at her satin-slippered feet. Once situated, I greeted her in a deferential tone, "Padrona."

"Stavi pregando?" Though her tone was nonchalant bordering on disinterest, I knew better. The fact that she had bothered asking in the first place was proof of her curiosity. And that was never a good thing. Catching her notice was akin to drawing the attention of a very unfriendly snake – a venomous one.

Even knowing this, I couldn't refuse an answer. It wasn't worth the consequences. So, with a sinking stomach, I nodded my head and answered her, "Si, padrona."

Those tiny feet danced fluidly across the worn stone floor until they were around a foot from my own bare ones, their owner stretching out a delicate porcelain hand to nudge my face upwards.

Swallowing nervously, I steeled my wits and did as I was bidden; raising my dark eyes to meet her crimson ones. It was always disconcerting, looking directly at her. She stood no more than five feet tall, her petite form androgynous despite the clothing she adorned it with, and her features childlike beneath the curling strands of golden hair that ringed her head. But it wasn't her apparent youth that was disturbing. Rather it was the vindictive maturity that seeped out from within those demonic eyes; making it absolutely clear that she was no innocent.

She waited until our eyes met before speaking, "E a chi preghi?"

My stomach dropped away at the look in those eyes, but I knew better than to lie. For all I knew, she had been standing there the whole time I'd been doing my devotions. So I whispered my answer, "Santa Germaine Cousin, padrona."

Those painted lips turned up at the edges in a sardonic smirk, "Patrona della abusata?"

I swallowed convulsively at the look on her face, nodding in affirmation, "Si, padrona."

"Come dolce," One long fingernail traced its way down the center of my throat.

I didn't speak – there had been no question.

"And do you think she listens to you – your Catholic Saint?"

Her abrupt switch in languages gave me pause, "I … I hope so …." The flash of annoyance that widened her eyes made me realize my lapse in just enough time. Quickly, I tacked on the requisite honorific, "Mistress."

A sleek blonde brow arched upward before her icy fingers relinquished their position on my neck – a warning, however subtle. Then, with a flourish of her grey cloak, she turned away from me, walking sinuously over to perch on the velvet-covered stool in front of my dressing table.

"And why is that, _Bella_?"

I cringed at her use of _that name _but answered her nonetheless, "Because I believe she watches over me, mistress."

Long, thin fingers began primping strands of her flaxen hair into an elaborate up-do, "She watches over you?" There was amusement in her tone, as though I were being naïve or quaint – or, perhaps, both. "Does she watch over livestock, too?"

I frowned, understanding what it was the little vixen was implying, "No, mistress."

Those crimson eyes flitted over to stare at my reflection in the looking glass, a dangerous glint flashing across their unholy hue, "Then she shouldn't be the least bit concerned with you at all, _little dish_."

I tried to keep the outrage I felt to myself. Shaking this hornet's nest was _always _a bad idea. This little demon-child had a sadistic streak that rivaled even _his _and I had no desire to be on the receiving end of her displeasure.

But her implication had struck a nerve – one of the few ones I had left anymore. It was one thing to brutalize me – I was ephemeral, inconsequential. But to blaspheme against my faith was something wholly different. And I just snapped.

"Saint Germaine looks after those with _souls_," I growled, rising up to my full height and squaring my shoulders as I turned to face her. This time, the lack of appellation was purposeful.

Those peevish little lips spread into a full smile, horrible and menacing in its threat, "Is that so?"

I stood my ground, glaring at the back of her ringlet-ed head, not deigning a reply.

It was the wrong answer.

Faster than I could follow, the child-like vampire vaulted up off the stool and flew at me. In an instant, the back of my head cracked painfully against the stone floor, dazing me as her petite hands squeezed the air out of me. Pristinely white teeth gleamed down at me as she spoke, her high-pitched voice riding out at a lower octave than usual, "I've got news for you, _Pet_. It's been over thirty-five years since you got here and, in all that time, you haven't changed a bit. And guess what: People with _souls _don't do that."

Then, with a wrenching tear, the right strap of my nightdress was ripped away and those perfect teeth sank themselves into the flesh of my shoulder.

* * *

><p>"<em>People with <em>souls_ …." _The accusation echoed around in my head for several long, hurtful seconds. Not because they carried with them the memory of pain but because they were true. Creatures with _souls _didn't live forever, untouched by the ravages of time. They were born, grew old, and died. I didn't. I'd gotten stuck somewhere in the middle. And lost my soul in the process ….

Tears stung at the inner corners of my eyes. I wasn't any different than she had been – than Edward was. A soulless creature cursed to wander the earth for all eternity, forever devoid of the Lord's Light.

Forcing myself to look through the last vestiges of the flashback, I focused on the face of the monster seated across from me. He didn't look like what he was – a vicious, unrepentant killer. Then again, I guess I didn't look like some soulless wraith either. Evil was much better at disguising itself than good, for temptation couldn't be if it wore the face of a demon.

Looking at those beatific features I found myself transposing another face over them, a face I had once fought to not see there. But were they really all that different, in truth? Sure, at least Edward _attempted _to put on a nicer façade. _He _had never done so. With _him _you always knew what lay beneath those cruel, calculating features. But with Edward ... he worked to cover up the nastiness that lingered in his head and heart.

No. They weren't so different. At least _he _had the decency to present _his _true self. With Edward I would never know whether what I was being shown was the truth or not.

Out of nowhere, the wistful expression on Edward's face pulled down into what could only be described as shocked confusion. Then, without a word, his fiery head swiveled away from me, off to the right where his siblings' table stood.

Before I had a chance to process my sudden release, that face wheeled back around to me.

I cringed away from him, forcing my eyes away from his. I didn't want to fall back under that spell.

For one painful heartbeat we sat there in silence.

The movement was casual, like so many other overtures he'd made in the last week; just his right hand reaching forward to lightly touch my own. But, this time, my reaction was drastically different.

"DON'T!" I shrieked, recoiling from him so strongly that I actually knocked the chair out from underneath myself; forcing my legs to stumble back to supply the necessary support.

The complete silence of the large room barely registered in my head over the frantic declaration inside – the one that screamed that I didn't want him to touch me, that I _never _wanted him to touch me again.

The look on Edward's face was the most worried and confused he'd ever worn; mouth hanging open and eyes held wide. His lips floundered open and closed a few times before he spoke, the word the most calming and caring it had ever been, "Lillie?"

"No." Shaking my head in emphasis.

"I don't …," he started.

"No."

Then, before I could change my mind – before he could weave that web of reasonabilities – I snatched up my backpack and ran.

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

French:

Merde! – Shit!

Je voulais faire du mal à ce_rtains d'entre eux – _I wanted to hurt some of them

Je voulais tuer certains de mes victimes – I wanted to kill some of my victims

Erreurs – ils étaient tous des erreurs_ – _Mistakes – they were all mistakes

Non – No

Je n'ai pas toujours vécu avec Carlisle – I have not always lived with Carlisle

Mais, tu as dit qu'il ait eu tu changé – il eut changé tout de vous!_ – _But you said he had changed you – he had changed all of you!

Italian:

Ancora pregate? – Still pray?

Padrona – Mistress

Stavi pregando? – Were you praying?

Si, padrona – Yes, mistress

E a chi preghi? – And to whom do you pray?

Santa Germaine Cousin, padrona – St. Germaine Cousin, mistress

Patrona della abusata? – Patron of the abused?

Come dolce – How sweet

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **How's them apples? Bet you all weren't expecting the story to take THAT turn. So, this is probably a good time to mention that the story won't necessarily be following the same plot line that the original _Twilight_ had. I'll be spicing it up and putting some new twists into it. I hope you all enjoyed this and feel free to drop me a line in reviews to tell me what you thought.

_**Food for Thought:** _Now that Lillie has started running, where is she going to go? Will she stick to her druthers and never trust another person? If so, where does that leave her relationship with Julia?


	25. Chapter 25: Betrayed

**DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own **_Twilight_**- Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you **_HATE Twilight _**or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.**

**A/N:** I'd like to send a great big THANKS to my Beta (Angel of the Night Watchers) for taking this on. I couldn't do it without you!

_Summary: Emotionally crushed by a betrayal she didn't see coming, Lillie must come to grips with what has transpired before she can decide where to go from here._

_**NOTE:**_ Those who review this chapter will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on FFn.** (Please ensure that your Private Messaging Capability is turned on in your Account Options, else I cannot send you the preview).**

_**Special Author's Note:** I wanted to say thanks to Paul Fritz for posting a review on my last chapter. Unfortunately, you don't have your Private Messaging Capability turned on, so I couldn't reply or send you your preview. Even so, I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25:<strong>

My eyes had long since run dry, unable to produce any more of the tears that usually accompanied the relentless trembling which wracked my balled-up form with a force reminiscent of an earthquake. So, too, had the raucous gasps died down to be replaced by the quiet panting of exhaustion. I didn't know how long I'd been here, crammed into the claustrophobic space between the door and the toilet; legs pulled in tightly to my chest and secured in place by the rigid banding of my quavering arms. I hadn't noticed the nasally tolling of the stupid bell over the turmoil of my breakdown. But that didn't mean it hadn't rung. Just that I'd missed it.

_Like so many other things …._

The thought, like so many of its predecessors, resounded in my head like the crack of a whip; its barbed ends sticking into the flesh of my psyche and shredding it to ribbons. And I had no right to complain, to bemoan the hand that dealt the lashes. Because that hand was my own.

Lines had been crossed, ones which could never be un-crossed. One by one, I'd stepped over them; each time consciously choosing to ignore the whispers of doubts that had arisen within my own heart and mind. Be it naivety or stubbornness, my willful disregard of truths that had long ago been established had led me to this moment.

There were no excuses I could offer, no words of apology or regret that could change what I had done. I had made my bed with the fragile glass of hopes. It was only fitting that those dreams had shattered into the sharp fragments of a broken heart just as the time had come for me to lie down.

And the worst part? It was no more than I deserved.

I had known better.

My chest and throat tightened painfully at the same time, forcing me to suck in a broken breath; the cold air feeling like sandpaper against the salt-raw walls of my windpipe, causing me to cough dryly which hurt even worse. I didn't bother using my hands to cover my hacking. The room had been blessedly empty, when I'd arrived and had remained so ever since. Not that I would have cared one way or the other. By the time I'd slammed the stall door closed behind me, I couldn't have gone another step. I hadn't even had the faculties to twist the lock into place. I'd simply crumpled into a boneless heap on the tile floor and allowed the waves of betrayal and pain to wash over me like a tsunami.

Squinting my eyes together tighter, I knocked my forehead against my kneecaps a few times in quick succession.

_That's what you get for trusting a vampire_, I silently admonished myself. And it was true. Every single vampire that I had ever met had hurt me in some way; physically, mentally … emotionally. Even the Cullens – _especially the Cullens_. They had sat there and watched Edward pull the wool over my eyes, had helped him to fake innocence and gentility. But they knew. They who had lived with him for decades. They had known all along what kind of monster he was.

And not a one of them had tried to warn me.

A hollow, heartrending sob slipped past my firmly compressed lips; the sound so pitiful I wouldn't have believed it possible had it not come from within my own body. It echoed off the walls around me, harmonizing with the irregular drips of a leaky faucet and the pitch-less creaking of the door of a nearby stall in an eerie way; sounding for all of the world like a macabre chorus of the broken.

Overall, it was fitting. Like the myriad of untended things in this restroom, there was something wrong with me. And, like with the cracked floor tile and the dented wall, the fractures in my being were overlooked by the outside world; deemed too inconsequential to fix – or too troublesome. Then again, tightening the washers on the faucet and doors were much easier to do than fixing what was wrong with me.

"_Did you _really _think you deserved better?"The voice _was quiet, rasping out from beyond that shadowy wall inside my head. _"_You _who killed them, who sat by and listened to them being ripped apart by those beasts?"_

A wash of dark energy surged forth from beyond the invisible wall that protected my sanity. And, too late, I realized that the barrier had weakened. The protective pool I'd once drawn from had grown tainted; the once-happy memories I'd filled it with had morphed, their hazy illusions now a reflection of the darkness I perceived in Edward. Gone was the assurance that I would be ever safe in his care. Gone was the confidence I'd once held in his goodness. In their place was a stream of faces and places which had once been locked securely away.

And _the voice_. That vindictive, grating whisper that provided the terrifying commentary backdrop for each of the images that now flitted through my head. The one that knew exactly what to say to strip me of my defenses, how to vocalize my worst fears and insecurities. Why? Because it was mine. It was the subtle sigh that told me I wasn't worth it, the screaming shout that decried I was nothing more than a freak. It was every dark thought, every self-defacing inclination I had ever had. It was as practical and calculating as it was cruel. It was the knife by which I stabbed myself in the back.

"No," I pleaded, the word little more than a tremulous whisper. Instinctively, I curled in on myself tighter; my arms exerting all their strength to pull my legs in as close as possible, my eyes squinting shut even more, and my head attempting to bury itself in the small notch between my knees and chest.

_The voice _chuckled wickedly and I felt another surge of power wash against my defenses, _"You _know _it's true."_

"No," I growled. Gritting my teeth together, I pushed back with every ounce of the waning mental strength I had.

"No what, Lily?"

My breath caught in my throat and I felt the muscles across my shoulders tense even more than they already were. _The voice _had changed; altered its timbre and tone to one less cruel and goading. Becoming almost friendly, familiar. The strange alteration gave me pause. Had I won? Was the damned thing going to crawl back into its detestable hole and leave me be?

Of course not.

Just as I began to believe I'd come out on top, it cackled out a long, low hiss of amusement; the sound sending chills down my spine, _"You can't get rid of what's already a part of you."_

"Go away," I groaned, my arms moving to wrap themselves over my head in a vain attempt to block out its devilish delight. But, deep down, I knew it was right. _The voice _was as much a part of me as my liver or spleen. I could no more eradicate its presence than I could those of my vital organs.

"Lily," that sweet, worried tone again.

"No!" I tried to scream, tried to put more emphasis and power behind the proclamation, but I just didn't have the strength – mental or emotional. I was spent.

"_Lillie …," the voice _taunted, back to its demonic roots.

"Leave me alone," I pled, pointlessly trying to shut out the sound.

But it didn't. _The voice _proceeded to toy with me, bouncing back and forth like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on LSD; sweet to cruel, worried to goading.

"Lily!"

"_Lillie …."_

"Lily, let me in."

"Stop it!" I cried, my dry eyes burning as they attempted to squeeze out tears that didn't exist. "PLEASE!"

"_Stop it," _it mocked, a ghostly chuckle following.

When something seized my hunched shoulders and began to shake me, I very nearly lost it. Things had never gone this far before – not even in the bowels of that Italian fortress. _The voice _had always remained just that – a voice; its wicked whisperings no more tangible than the dark dreams that filled my nights. But for this to happen …. Things had moved far beyond the realm of the acceptable.

"Lily!" Another rough shake, this one so forceful it shook the stall door behind me.

_No_, I thought quietly, trying to force the imagined stimuli away. _It's not real – it can't be._

"Look at me, Lily." Soft skin, warm to the touch, brushed against the tip of my ear as slender hands attempted to pry my arms away from my head.

The reality of the contact frightened me enough that I acted instinctively; my arms uncurling from their protective position as my head snapped up, eyes held wide with fear and surprise, and grabbed the wrists of my attacker, intent on tearing their hands away. But what I saw startled me into complete immobility.

Deep brown eyes stared at me through the oddly-prismatic sheen of half-rimmed glasses, the face oval and framed by a wash of dark straight hair. It wasn't necessarily her presence that shocked me – I saw her almost every day. What surprised me was the intensity with which those eyes met mine. I was more accustomed to seeing them down turned.

"Ange …?" I tried, only to find that my throat had grown raw and swollen from the crying. Swallowing thickly, I tried again, this time managing to force a scratching version of her name past my useless voice box, "Angela?"

Her eyes, as dark as fresh coffee, scanned my face for a few moments; thoughts and emotions flickering behind them like fireflies. When she spoke, her voice was like a protective blanket settling itself over me, "Yeah, sweetie. It's me."

I opened my mouth to say something, to ask her what she was doing here, but all that came out was a broken sob. At the sound, my chest constricted so forcefully that I found it difficult to breathe. It was like I was being shredded from the inside – like my organs had shattered into a million tiny pieces, each so sharp they were capable of slicing through bone and flesh alike.

The pain must have been evident on my face because Angela leaned forward and wrapped me in her arms, her small form rocking me back and forth in time with my sobs, "Shhh. It's okay – you're okay. I'm here."

* * *

><p>I don't know how long we sat there – how long the tearless weeping went on. Eventually, though, the shutters stopped and the breaths I drew in grew easier. When calm finally came, I found myself leaning heavily on Angela's shoulder, one of her arms wrapped around my shoulders as her hand rubbed soothing circles into my back. The familiarity of her embrace was a little disconcerting. There was nothing illicit in it, rather it spoke of a level of understanding and closeness I had never attributed with her. Before now, there had only been a handful of people whom I had ever allowed to hold me like this – to see me in such a vulnerable state – and Angela wasn't one of them. She wouldn't have even made the 'top ten' on the list – if there had been such a thing.<p>

Yet, I hadn't thought twice about collapsing into her – and that wasn't like me.

Embarrassed, I pulled away; realizing, for the first time, how little room there really was inside the stall.

She let me go easily, shifting slightly so that she could see me better.

I just sat there, fidgeting a little with the ends of my hair and trying to think of what I should say. What she had seen … it went beyond what a casual friend should. In fact, it butted, awkwardly, against the realm of familial closeness. The problem was, how does one even begin to address something like that? If I'd had the faculties to do so beforehand, I might have asked her to leave – told her that I wanted to be alone. But I hadn't. So, what is there to say after the fact?

When I finally made myself meet her eyes, there was no trace of judgment in their umber depths. Even the hints of pity I saw were limited. What dominated her expression was uncertainty – like she was picking up on my confusion and echoing it back.

"Any better?" Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

The question snagged me out of my embarrassment, bringing my addled brain back to the source of my pain. Though the hurt was a little duller now than it had been before, it was still more than I could handle. Cringing away from the anguish, I shook my head and tried to think of something else – _anything _else.

Slender shoulders sagged a little, as though beneath an unbearable weight, and those dark eyes scanned me again. I could feel it every time they paused to take in some sign of my distress; the unnaturally-tense cowing of my frame, the quick hitching breaths that shook my chest like small tremors, and the undoubtedly-red blotchiness covering my pale face. When they returned to me, her worry had sharpened into intensity, "Do you want to go home?"

Honestly? I wasn't sure. It wasn't that I didn't want to get out of this stall. More that I didn't know if I should even bother. With how much pain I was in, how betrayed and alone I felt, I just wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go back to a life that kept me _here_. My instincts were telling me that I should run, cut my losses and leave. Part of me recognized that doing so would hurt Julia – part of me even cared about that – but another, more selfish side, was trying to convince the rest of me that I just couldn't risk going through this again. And, from the dark recesses of my mind, _the voice _whispered that, given enough time, Julia would let me down, too.

Eventually, I gave in and just nodded my head. I was far too emotionally exhausted to contemplate the what-ifs and why-fors right then. The first step was simply getting out of the stall. Everything after that could be figured out later.

Angela rose slowly to her feet, somehow managing to cram her tiny frame into the empty space between the latrine and the stall wall; her arm extending down to offer a helping hand up.

I paused for a fraction of a second as my mind recognized the significance of that single gesture and the weight it would carry were I to accept it. The hollow echo of my previous conviction sounded in my ears,_"Never again …." _There was just enough time for me to worry over the implications of taking her aide. In the end, however, I pushed the worry aside. She was offering to help me to my feet. Nothing more.

Getting out of the stall was a bit of an adventure. The small space hadn't been intended to house two people and, consequently, didn't offer much space for the door to swing inward when so occupied. It took me backing myself into the wall, holding the door close to my chest, before Angela was able to squeeze through the opening.

When I emerged, I couldn't help but catch sight of my reflection in the huge, wall-spanning mirror over the sinks. And what I saw did nothing to raise my spirits. My pale face was blotchy with the same shade of red that ringed my puffy eyes – eyes that were unmistakably bloodshot. In short, I was a mess.

"Wait," I croaked, stopping Angela from pulling open the heavy door that lead back into the hall.

She didn't say anything, when she turned around; just looked at me with a hesitantly curious expression on her tanned face.

Reaching into my front pocket, I fished around until my fingertips found the slender ring of cloth-covered elastic I was looking for. Without a word, I used it to pull my thick hair back from my face before turning on the cold water to the sink. Leaning down, I filled my cupped palms and used it to splash my face; repeating the process a couple of times before twisting the knob back to off and tearing a swath of paper from the nearby roll to pat off the remaining wetness. When I straightened up to examine my reflection again, it was marginally better. The cold water had reduced the puffiness around my eyes and nose and had given my pale skin a more even pink tone.

Pulling the hair tie out with one hand, I nodded back at Angela, "Okay."

* * *

><p>It was a minor miracle that we managed to make it all the way to the parking lot without anyone stopping us. Whether they saw us or not was a completely different story – one that I couldn't have cared less about. I followed behind her with shuffling, unhurried steps the whole way. When we stopped in front of a worn white Honda Civic, it took me a moment before I understood that it was her car. She pulled open the driver's side door before nodding toward the passenger side, "It's open."<p>

I fought back a cringe at the familiar words and simply slipped inside.

She drove slowly – much more slowly than was strictly necessary considering the emptiness of the streets. Then again, considering how many worried glances she was stealing at me, it was probably for the best. I didn't really need 'automobile collision' added to the laundry list of complications I already had piled on my plate.

I stared absently out the windshield, my mind too preoccupied with being empty to appreciate the irony of there being no rain when my eyes couldn't seem to stop leaking – sporadic as the teardrops were. I'd shed more tears of grief in the last six months than I could remember having shed at any other time in my too-long life. One would think, what with everything I'd been through in the last century, that I'd have long ago lost the ability to cry. But, instead, it seemed the opposite was true. The longer I lived, the more capacity for grief and hurt I seemed to accumulate.

_Only another – oh, I don't know – eternity to go …_, I thought ruefully.

My eyes slipped closed at the thought. At the rate things were going, I'd finally get the answer to the question about whether I was still human enough to die of a broken heart. My guess? Probably not. Dying of grief would be too fitting an end for the likes of me. My death – if it ever came – would more likely be the result of extreme violence. Violence dealt out by the hands of vampires, if there was any symmetry to the universe.

It was the first thing my eyes landed on, when I finally opened them back up; and it seemed almost providential. The long, narrow building was set back from the road on a small grassy rise, its front doors propped open beneath the tall stained-glass window set into the snow-white siding of the three-story steeple. A simple white cross adorned the top of the bell tower, its shape defined by the mist-grey uniformity of the ever-present cloud cover.

"Wait." The request was out of my mouth before I even had time to think it through.

"What is it?" The car began to slow almost immediately, despite Angela's obvious confusion.

I paused for one prolonged second; what remained of my rational mind trying to decide whether what I was considering was even possible – let alone a good idea. The consensus was mixed – and, therefore, totally useless. So I decided to just go with it. If it didn't work, it didn't work. At least I'd know.

"Can you pull in, please?" I pointed to the entrance of the parking lot ahead.

Though her brows were pulled together in concern, she nodded her head and maneuvered the vehicle into one of the available spaces.

I waited until she'd put the car into park before I motioned at the church, "Do you mind?"

She blinked, "No." There was some level of discomfort lingering below the surface of her expression, despite the readiness of her answer.

Her unspoken hesitancy gave me pause. I'd never stopped to wonder whether Angela was religious or not. It wasn't one of the topics that had come up within my group of school friends. Granted, I wasn't exactly what one could call 'religious' myself. I had faith, sure – it was one of the few things that had stayed with me throughout the whole of my lifetime. However, it had been decades since I'd been to church – and I hadn't stepped foot in a Catholic church since before Italy. As such, I hadn't been to Confession or taken Communion in longer than most people lived. Come to think of it, I'd stopped praying regularly a long, long time ago; instead bowing my head only when I was in trouble.

Still, I felt like this was where I should be. I couldn't have said why – God had never answered my prayers before. Then again, I hadn't been all that good at keeping His laws either ….

"I can walk home from here, if …," I didn't finish the offer, feeling awkward insinuating that she was uncomfortable.

Her dark eyes flickered away from my face, over my shoulder to take in the church. But, before they landed back on my own, she was shaking her head, "No, I can come in – if you want me to."

The smile that came to my face was a poor example of my gratitude, but it was the closest I could come at the moment, "Thanks. I just …. I need some time to think."

Her smile was full of warmth and support, "What're friends for?"

The instant the sole of my shoe touched that first concrete step leading up to those doors, I began to have second thoughts. It wasn't that I thought I didn't belong – well, not _exactly_. In a way, I knew I didn't. Since the deaths of my family, much of my life had been spent in the company of evil – whether by choice or not, it didn't matter. And, while things had improved after Italy, I could not say that I had lived a _good _life. There were things in my past that I was not proud of. Of the twelve simple rules that had been laid out for me to follow, I had managed to keep less than half – and some of those only because the opportunity to break them had never presented itself. No, I had not lived a righteous life. I was a survivor in a world where survival and salvation were neither synonymous nor sympathetic. Then again, that was kind of the whole point of a church – to help people find deliverance.

No, my problem wasn't in synergy. What I was afraid of, above all else, was rejection. Not by the church, of course – the clergy here knew no more of me than anyone else. I was absolutely terrified that God Himself would turn me away. That I would reach those open doors and find I couldn't go inside, that all my fears of abandonment and forsakenness had been justified. I was scared of confirming that there was no salvation waiting for me. I was frightened of being alone; wholly and truly alone.

Somehow, I managed to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other, all the way to the top landing. When I reached it, however, I found myself frozen in place; my limbs acting out the petrified state of my mind, as I stared inside. Gold and aqua light filtered down through the window above the door, its surreal beauty lending a welcoming aura to the simply-decorated narthex. But it wasn't the worn oaken floorboards that had caught my eye – nor had the carved pews or even the white-cloaked altar. No, what had grabbed my attention and immobilized me was the man-sized wooden crucifix that hung suspended from the cathedral ceiling.

Hanging lifelessly from the center was a carefully crafted wooden man, his arms extended out to either side with hands pierced through with crude iron nails, his feet stacked atop a small triangular platform and likewise punctured. A ragged cloth hung from his emaciated hips and a crown of thorns wrapped itself across his forehead. Even from so far away, I could make out the glistening of light reflecting off streams of red that ran down his bearded, bedraggled face, from the piercings on his hands and feet, and from a single, slender wound at his ribcage. The sight was made even more powerful by the presence of a large rose window on the wall behind him; its colored glass casting beams of multifaceted light around his broken silhouette.

Transfixed and trembling, I stared at the statue from the opposite side of the threshold. The metallic heads of the crucifixion nails glittered more brightly than anything else, as though in emphasis of the pain and suffering their installment had inflicted; and I couldn't help but gape at them in horror.

_I'm not worth that …. _The thought bubbled up from the murky quagmire of my mind, bringing with it a bitter taste that tinged the back of my mouth with the flavor of fresh ashes.

"No," I whispered hollowly, "I'm not." And it was true.

Of the myriad of ways authorities throughout the centuries had concocted to execute prisoners, crucifixion was one of the cruelest. Not because it was gruesome, but because it was both languorous and humiliating. Unlike beheading or draw-and-quartering, crucifixion was never quick. The condemned's death came after hours – or days – of torturous exertion – usually preceded by some form of scourging. If they didn't die from exposure or exsanguination, then they faced the chance of their wounds becoming infected and succumbing to septic shock. If they were unlucky enough to survive that, then asphyxiation stood ready, waiting like a vulture for the victim's legs to give out. Then again, the perpetrators were rarely patient enough to wait days for their wards to die. In that case, the crucified's knees were shattered using a mallet or hammer and either severe traumatic shock or asphyxiation finished them off.

All in all, a horrible way to go.

Out of nowhere, a passage from John flitted through my mind, _"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son; that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life."_

I felt them coming, the tears. They tickled and burned the desiccated flesh at the inner corners of my eyes, making me blink repeatedly. Before I could break down again, my instinctual sarcasm flitted up through the pain to provide some alleviation, _Yeah, about that whole '_everlasting life_' thing – not all it's touted to be._

"I don't think that's what He meant …," I mumbled, finally able to draw my eyes down to stare at my feet.

"Did you say something?"

Angela's familiar voice snapped me out of the reverie I'd been lost to and, when I looked up to find her, I saw she was standing just inside the narthex threshold. Her thick brows were arched up in the center, making her dark eyes stand out all the more against her tanned skin.

Realizing I'd said the last too loudly, I shook my head; my nerves sending my teeth to lightly pinch the flesh of my lower lip between them.

"Are you okay?"

Flickering my gaze back up to her, I suddenly noticed how critically she was examining me. And, considering how I was acting, I couldn't have said that I blamed her. For the first time since reaching the landing, I took stock of what I was actually doing. My right shoe was absently toeing a crack in the concrete and I was wiping my stiff-as-hangers hands against the denim of my jeans.

_Could you look any more nervous?! _I mentally chastised myself before making a conscious attempt to mellow out my physical persona.

"I'm fine," I said. When she gave me a disbelieving look and opened her mouth, I decided to elaborate, "It's just … been a while since I've been to church."

With a determination equal parts fear and hope, I stepped forward and forced my right foot over the threshold.

* * *

><p>Perched on the edge-most seat of the back-most pew, I stared down at my fidgeting hands. Every now and then I would peek up at something, my eyes lingering just long enough to recognize what it was before skittering back down to my lap. Despite having made it through the door, I still couldn't make myself believe that I <em>belonged <em>there. Being _allowed _inside was closer to tolerance than acceptance. Still, it was better than the alternative.

Save myself and the just-as-silent Angela, the nave was empty. It wasn't surprising, given the time and day. And, ungracious as it might have seemed, I was unrepentantly thankful that the priest was elsewhere. I didn't want to have to try to explain my presence.

For long, uncounted minutes I sat, uncertain of what it was I was supposed to be doing. Now that I was inside, I wasn't really sure why I'd come. Given my predicament, it wasn't exactly logical to expect to find solace there. In fact, most people in my position found more comfort at the bottom of a pint of Ben and Jerry's or a bottle of Captain Morgan than I was likely to find in there. But still, there was some contentment in simply being there.

Sort of like going home after everyone had gone.

The quiet breath I'd been drawing in halted inside my raw throat, as an image flitted across my mind's eye: just a simple dilapidated stone building, crumbling and partially overgrown with untended weeds; the door-less frame precariously leaning to one side and coldly _empty_. As unsettling as the lonesome image was, it wasn't so much the vision as the accompanying memory that set my hands to trembling.

_No_, I thought hollowly. _This is easier._

"Lillie?" The call was soft, the voice both familiar and not at the same time.

Frowning at the prospect of running into someone who would know damn well I was supposed to be in class, I reluctantly lifted my head to see who had recognized me. When my eyes landed on them, I automatically stopped breathing.

Bright, metallic golden eyes stared out at me from within an unnaturally pale heart-shaped face; the lines of which were set into confusion.

Anger and pain boiled back up from beneath the uneasy calm I'd succumbed to, their sharp contrast dragging a quiet gasp through rigid lips. Seeing them – particularly after I'd learned what I had – was like a slap across my face. Because, Lord knew, I hadn't already suffered enough for one day.

The look on my face must have been worse than I realized, because the confusion on her face soon gave way to concern, "Has something happened?"

It took two tries before the words worked their way past my tight lips, their volume as low as their tone, "Why don't you tell me."

Soft brows pulled down once more in bewilderment, fantastical eyes carefully examining my face before she spoke, "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" The words, though quiet, were accusatory. Part of me understood that she couldn't possibly know what had happened – she couldn't see into the past. But, at the moment, that didn't matter. She _should _have known. They'd all worked so hard at keeping me in the dark. Surely she had considered the possibility that I'd learn the truth. Murphy's Law was universal, after all.

It wasn't until those amber eyes flickered off to my right that I realized that Angela had come to stand beside me. Her warm presence was comforting, even if I inherently understood that she could never comprehend the full extent of the conversation. In her, at least, I could believe the concern.

"No," the single word was oddly soft, hollow. When her eyes flickered back to meet mine, there was a new quality lingering behind their supernatural sheen – something I couldn't quite place.

Had I not been inside the church – and with a human companion within earshot – I might have let her have it, right then and there; laid out all of my pain and anger at her betrayal in shrill, shrieking tones. But I was, and so I didn't. Instead, I sucked in my cheek and did my best not to draw blood with my teeth as I considered the options. Part of me – a very large, very hurt part – wanted to deny her; to tell her I'd had enough of her entire family – and their whole damned species, for that matter – and that I had no intention of being polite to someone who saw fit to lie so blatantly to me about something so important. But there was another part of me that wanted closure; that craved an explanation despite knowing full well that it wouldn't make any of it hurt any less.

For several long, uncomfortable moments we just stared at each other; neither one letting the other in on our trains of thought. In the end, however, a decision had to be made. And so, with heavy resignation, I addressed my friend, "Angela, could you give us a moment, please?"

Although I wasn't looking directly at her, I felt Angela's hesitation as she quickly eyed the two of us. It lasted only a second, however. Ever discrete, she touched me briefly on the back of my shoulder and told me she'd be outside if I needed her before taking her leave.

She waited until Angela had left the building before speaking, even then keeping her voice to a minimum, "What happened?"

Looking at her, I couldn't help but draw parallels between her perfection and Edward's – despite knowing there wasn't any actual relation. The concern that tugged at the corners of her marble mouth and eyes looked so genuine that I had to remind myself that she'd already lied to me once with a straight face – and done so so convincingly that I'd never even suspected the falsehood existed.

Even hurt and angry as I was, I understood that I had to be careful. I'd spent long enough in the company of vampires to understand full well that immortal or not, gifted or not, I was not an equal. All it would take was one wrong move – a misplaced word or erratic gesture – and her geniality could disappear like it had never existed. So, despite the aching pain that filled my chest and urged me to lash out, I carefully selected my words. Too many and I risked losing control over my temper. Too few and I risked irritating her with my vagueness.

"I know the truth."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I know it's shorter than usual, but flow was more important than length in this case. I'm working on the next one as we speak. Feel free to drop me a review and tell me what you thought (you'll get a preview of the next chapter before it's posted on FFn, if you do).


	26. Chapter 26: Wrath

**A/N:** I'd like to apologize for how long this chapter took to put out. It was a very difficult one for me to write, as it touched on a subject from my past that is highly uncomfortable to speak on. However, I felt it was important to be true to my characters and let their emotions play out in a realistic – and sometimes painful – way. Now, I will warn you guys that a vast majority of this chapter deals with a very heavy and uncomfortable topic: Abuse. There are somewhat graphic descriptions of abuse (mental, emotional, and physical) at times and I want to let you guys know that up front – particularly since I know that not everyone can handle reading about such topics. If you cannot/do not want to read this chapter because of the topic and yet still would like to follow the story, please feel free to send me a PM asking for a brief summary – I will be more than happy to provide it for you.

_Summary: Having been confronted in the Church by a member of Edward's family, and informing them that she _knows_ about Edward's sordid past, Lillie must decide whether to cut and run or stay and hear an explanation._

NOTE: Those who review this chapter will receive a preview of the next chapter a week before it's posted on FFn.** (Please ensure that your Private Messaging Capability is turned on in your Account Options, else I cannot send you the preview).**

Special Author's Note:_ I wanted to say thanks to _KendraMurrey _for posting a review on my last chapter. Unfortunately, you don't have your Private Messaging Capability turned on, so I couldn't reply or send you your preview. Even so, I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 26:<strong>

For several prolonged seconds, glistening golden eyes scrutinized me; their shimmering depths betraying nothing of the thoughts formulating behind them. Likewise, I watched her; wholly unsure of what would happen next. My only consolation was the nearness of other humans. As careful as her coven was, she _might_ weigh discretion more important than instant gratification.

"About Edward?"

The name hurt to hear – particularly when said with such obvious affection – and I fought back an intentional cringe. Besides, her obtuseness grated against my nerves. Who _else_ would I be talking about?

With careful effort I forced an acknowledgement through gritted teeth, "Obviously."

In a very human expression, she drew her painted lower lip between unnaturally bright teeth, tilted her head to one side, and breathed out a soft sigh, "Yes, well … he's a _complicated_ person."

"Not really." I hadn't expected the words to come out – I'd simply been thinking them.

One caramel-colored brow arched up in question and I found myself unintentionally elaborating.

"He's a very simple _vampire_." It was the devil's own luck that we were alone, because I hadn't bothered to lower my voice for the last part; instead allowing all the venom I felt toward their deceit to bleed through into that single, accusing word.

"I see," she actually had the decency to lower her gaze from mine, making me realize for the first time that she wasn't much taller than I was despite the heels on her feet.

"Yeah, well now I do too." I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for whatever happened next.

With another sigh – this one almost inaudible – she extended one long arm to indicate a small door some ways up the aisle, "Would you walk with me?"

I very nearly said 'no' – probably should have, all things considered. But I hadn't yet gotten the answers I wanted – _needed_; and so I nodded my head and let her lead the way.

She waited until we were outside, walking amongst the verdant garden that stretched along the breadth of the tiny church, before speaking, "I did wonder when he was going to tell you about that."

I fought the urge to suggest that _she_ should have told me herself, instead forcing myself to remain silent.

"It's been sort of …," she extended one arm downward and let her stone fingers brush the top petals of a rose. "Well, let's just say that my son was a bit worried about how you might react."

Even angry as I was, I had to frown a bit at the unspoken insinuation – _like I_ was _reacting_. He'd had every reason for concern. Learning that the man you loved had spent time living as a blood-crazed murdering _monster_ wasn't something _anyone_ reacted well to.

Working to keep my still-raw temper under control, I spoke through partially-clenched teeth, "Well, he sure had a strange way of showing it."

Her brows pulled together as she cast me a curiously concerned look, "What do you mean?"

Tense as I was, I had to crack my jaw before it would allow me to form my words correctly, "I _mean_ that he took a wistful ninety mile-per-hour drive down memory lane; describing how _'natural'_ and _'easy'_ hunting humans was, how amazing the _'flavor'_ was." With a herculean effort, I forced myself to stop speaking. My muscles were so taut that my hands were shaking against the dark denim of my jeans. A slight reddish tint was ebbing inward from the edges of my vision; enough so that I had to close my eyes and breathe slowly through my nostrils to keep the explosive anger and hurt from passing the point of no return. This was neither the time nor the place – and _definitely_ not the opponent.

The _whooshing_ sound of a remorseful sigh coming from her direction brought my eyes open a slit.

"This is all my fault," Esme's face was pulled into a forlorn expression, an unfamiliar weight resting upon the soft marble features. "I'm so sorry, Lillie."

"Huh?" I looked at her in confusion, completely lost as to what she meant. How was any of this her fault? Sure, she'd lied to me – and that was bad enough – but she hadn't been the one reminiscing about their kills like they were a favorite pastime.

She continued to sit there, perfectly manicured fingertips touching her too-perfect lips. I guessed that she hadn't hear me.

"How are his … _indiscretions …_," talk about a euphemism, "your fault?"

That billowy bottom lip quivered for a half second in a way that made me think she _might_ have been tearing up, if she'd had the ability. "I drove him to it."

"You wha...?" I stopped before finishing the word; not because I was shocked at the admission but because I couldn't believe the absurdity of it.

"I made him do it – made him kill those people," she repeated, her shimmering golden eyes staring down at the ground in shame.

For one long second, I had to work to keep quiet. I just couldn't _believe_ what I was hearing. I'd thought I'd figured out just how messed up – how _dysfunctional_ – the Cullen clan was before now. But _this_ …. _This_ just proved how badly I'd underestimated them. Not only were they willing to _lie_ to protect their _Prodigal Son_ but I had _no __idea_ they actually believed that they were _responsible_ for his demented activities.

"That's …," I paused, looking for a nice way to say 'stupid'. When I couldn't find one, I opted for something else, "not true. You can't _force_ someone to kill. That's a choice they have to make all on their own."

She sighed – a sound both painful and patient, "You don't understand."

I had to bite my lower lip for a second to cut off a rude retort. In the end, I settled for something a little less acerbic than I had _wanted_ to say, "Yes, I do." I said it with force, with conviction. Not simply because I was right but because it was true. I had been there – on the cusp of morality between life and death. I knew exactly what it felt like to have someone's life hanging in the balance as I contemplated murder.

For a brief moment, a face flitted past my mind's eye; its features hazy and distorted in the film of years, but I recognized it. I'd know those eyes anywhere. Blue. Like the sea on a stormy day – and just as deep. Eyes that could see past the ornament, straight into someone's soul – into _my soul_. Eyes that would haunt me to my dying day – if and when that ever came.

Neither wanting nor needing the painful distraction right then, I mentally shook the face away. Plenty of time to think on that later.

When my mind and vision returned to the present, I found Esme staring at me in a way both calculating and remorseful, "You really do, don't you?"

A curt nod of my head was all I could offer, finding her expression oddly comforting and familiar.

"I'm so sorry." She was being truthful. Her voice and face open and sympathetic.

"It was a long time ago," I shook my head, my right shoulder absently tilting upward toward my earlobe in a lopsided shrug of discomfort. It was – a _very_ long time ago, truth be told. And not something I felt _inclined_ to discuss with her.

For an awkward moment, we were silent; both unsure where to go from there.

"We all have pasts, Lillie," her voice made me jump, the words lacking the usual condemnation such sentiments carried. "We've all done things we regret."

I cast her a sidelong glance. Something about her tone made me wonder why she was telling me this – and what it was that _she_ regretted.

"What's important – in the end – is learning to live with the things we've done," her yellow eyes flitted away from me, like she was somehow ashamed. "For some, it's easy. For the rest of us, though …." She sighed, those too-soft eyes returning to meet mine, "We have a harder time because our sins are the kind that drag others down with us."

For several long seconds, I stood there staring at her; trying to come up with something to say. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong – that a person's sins were private and held no sway on the choices and sins of others. But I couldn't. I understood, all too well, that certain _sins_ had a tendency to rub off on others."

Again, those same blue eyes hovered in the empty space between our faces; and, again, I forced them away.

Still, I couldn't allow her to believe herself at fault for murders Edward had committed on his own.

"He made his own decisions, Esme. You didn't force him to kill those people."

"Force him, no. But I _am_ the reason he started in the first place." One hand drew itself back through her loose caramel curls as her haunted eyes closed in a pained grimace.

"I …," I swallowed, trying to come up with something to say only to find my usual bombastic retorts missing. "... don't understand," I finished lamely.

When her eyes opened once more, they remained pointedly away from my face; focusing, instead, on a nearby rosebush, "Do you know what my sin is, Lillie – what it is that I can't forget?"

"No." There wasn't anything else to say. I didn't know Esme as well as I had Edward – well, as well as I _thought_ I had.

"Wrath," the single word was quiet but unmistakable.

I paused for a moment before responding. Not because I was unsure what to say but because her answer seemed so out of place given her usual countenance. Then again, I had already mistakenly judged Edward to be something he wasn't.

"Why?"

"Because I cannot forgive someone. Because I let my anger and hatred of them taint another. And because my only regret was that I drove someone I loved to enact vengeance on my behalf."

My brows furrowed. This was not something I had heard before. I knew of her death but had no idea what circumstances had led her to that cliff. Had she been murdered – like Rosalie?

"Who?" I found myself asking before I had time to think the query through.

"My husband," he tone turned harsh with bitterness and resentment.

I blinked, confused. Carlisle? She hated Carlisle? But … they had looked so happy, so in love. Perhaps she was a better actress than I gave her credit for being.

"Why?" Did he know? Edward surely didn't. He'd always held up their relationship as the pinnacle of true love.

"Because of what he did to me – to _us_," her voice was flat, empty of emotion and inflection until the last word.

_Oh_. Now I understood. She hadn't _fallen_ from that cliff. She'd jumped. She'd wanted to die and resented Carlisle because he'd turned her instead. I could relate, in a way. I hated _Him_ because _He'd_ done basically the same thing to me – denied me the right to choose the manner of my life. _His_ experiments and _indulgences_ had stripped me of what little humanity I'd had left, hollowed me out like an empty shell and left me to slither through the remainder of my days alone and cursed. Perhaps Esme and I had more in common than I'd ever considered.

But that still didn't explain why she thought she was to blame for her adopted son's horrible choices.

"You can't blame yourself for things another took it upon themselves to do – regardless of whether you felt your anger contributed to their decision or not. We all own our own sins. We cannot carry the burdens of another's sins, too." Before I realized it, I found my hand resting on one of her stone shoulders.

"That's sweet, Lillie. But it wasn't my anger that drove him to it. It was all the memories that I couldn't let go of."

"Memories?" I was confused. It had been my impression that vampires couldn't remember their transformations – well, except for the pain.

She nodded her caramel head, "Things like that were …," she paused. "_Are_ hard to forget."

I blinked, bewildered, "I don't understand."

Sighing heavily, she motioned over to the empty space on the bench beside her, "How much do you know about me, Lillie? Has Edward told you anything?"

A bit reluctantly, I took the proffered seat, "Not much, I suppose. I know how you … well I know why Carlisle turned you – I mean … what happened to you." Awkward didn't quite cover this situation.

She nodded, "Do you know why I jumped?"

Confirmation. I shook my head in answer.

Too-white teeth kneaded her lower lip for a few moments before she spoke, "Well, there is a short, simple version and then there is the truth – the _whole_ truth."

"Okay," I said hesitantly.

"The short, simple version is that I had just lost my newborn child to lung fever and I was distraught."

My jaw fell open slightly at the shockingly matter-of-fact way she was able to break this news. Granted, it had been nearly a century since her loss, but still. Given her supposed anger, I wouldn't have thought this an easy topic.

"And the long version?" I wasn't really sure I wanted to know, but the morbidly curious streak inside me was nagging for more details.

She sighed heavily, "It's a very, _very_ long story – and not an entirely happy one, at that."

"Oh, right." How unfeeling could I be? Of course her story was a tragic one. I doubted anyone who ended up where she did had a happy-go-lucky tale to go along with it. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me."

She was quiet for a few moments, "I appreciate that, Lillie – I do. However, given the circumstances, I suppose you probably have the right to know."

I just looked at her, unsure how to react to such a proclamation. Given everything that had transpired, it wasn't exactly the kind of statement you'd say 'good' to. Perhaps I did have the right to know what events had started Edward – and, by association, _me_ – down the painful path we found ourselves on, but that didn't mean the story was one I should _want_ to hear.

Esme paused for a long time, her hunter's eyes dulling and seeming to glaze over with the sheen of recollection. They stared off across the verdant rows of flowers and herbs, off toward a distant statuette of a saint; but she didn't appear to be seeing the carved sandstone. When she began to speak, there was an echo of wistful reminiscence to her smooth alto lilt.

"You have to understand, the world I grew up in was so very different from today. It wasn't just the simplicity of our day to day lives or the lack of modern amenities that made it feel that way; rather it was the complexity of the things society expected from each of us. You see, in many ways, the world of today is so much easier – simpler – than the one from a hundred years ago. Nowadays, people are more free to be … well, to _be_." She glanced at me, trying to see whether I could grasp the concept she was presenting.

I nodded my understanding in a somewhat jaded way. Little did she know, but I understood all too well how much life could change in the short span of years that was a century.

She stared at me for a brief moment, something unreadably familiar twinkling in the citrine depths of her eyes. "Back then, there were certain things people were expected to be – certain ways they were supposed to act. For instance, women. In the early nineteen hundreds, there were a strict standard of rules that governed how a woman – be they grown or little more than a child – was to behave, what sorts of dreams and aspirations we were to have.

"We were supposed to be quiet, obedient, good at cooking and sewing, and want nothing more from life than to find a good husband and raise proper, well-behaved children of our own. We weren't supposed to want careers – to desire anything more than our mothers before us had." She paused again, her pale stone hands placed precisely in the center of her lap, one ankle tucked neatly behind the other in a way that made me wonder just how strong her connection with these memories was.

Shaking herself in a 'coming-to' sort of way, she looked back at me, "But, you see, I did. I wanted more."

Another brief pause, this one filled with a slow drawn breath, "I tried to be good – to fit into the expected mould my mother and father so badly wanted me in. But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, how much effort I put in to stymie the nature with which I was born, I never quite fit in.

"I was a wild, rambunctious child – always scraping my knees and doing the things my mother told me not to. I didn't like the frilly dresses or girdles she would force me to wear."

A soft, wry chuckle slipped past her lips, "I suppose you could say I was a tomboy. Though, perhaps some of that was my father's fault. As the only child, he doted on me. But he also taught me the things he probably would have taught a son – like how to tie a knot and plow a line."

Her wistful smirk faded, "But he also taught me to read. And, in the end, that was where the trouble really began."

I frowned, trying to understand how learning to read could lead to her becoming a vampire.

"My father adored the written word. Every night, after chores and dinner, he would sit me down in front of the fireplace and we would read from whatever book he'd brought back from town. There were so many – and they were never the same. He'd read history or science, fiction or even the Bible. It didn't matter. It was our ritual. Mother would sit in her rocking chair sewing, and papa and I would read." The smile returned for a brief moment before flitting away.

"As you can imagine, all of this extracurricular learning had an effect on my schooling. I was quite advanced by the time I attended my first classes – able to read and write before many of the others. But the most profound impact was on my desire _to_ learn – I always wanted to. I found an almost addictive pleasure in discovering something new – mathematics, science, it didn't matter to me. Everything was wonderful in my eyes.

"But not so for my mother.

"You see, by the time I entered my early teens, I had figured out what I wanted to do – and it wasn't getting married and raising a family. I wanted to be a schoolteacher. I'd become mesmerized by the written word – by everything from Shakespeare to Galileo – and by having a role in society more substantial than simply 'mother'. I wanted to impart my knowledge to more than just my own children, to help them come to learn to love learning as much as I did.

"In those days, however, schoolmarms – while generally respected – were usually spinsters who lacked decent marriage prospects. They were not – for the most part – women who'd chosen the profession for love of knowledge or children. More importantly, however, becoming a schoolteacher required attending an out-of-state school for several years following graduation from primary – a time that was typically spent finding a husband, settling down, and starting a family. Attending such further education would place me dangerously near the age of 'spinster' before I would even have the chance to begin those _lauded_ pursuits," her voice turned sour, almost peevish.

"But it was that worry that drove my mother to pester me beyond reason to abandon my dreams of a college education. It didn't help that, just following my eighteenth birthday, I had already received a marriage proposal. She nagged at me incessantly insisting that it was folly to throw away a perfectly wonderful husband to chase down a silly dream – particularly one so lowly as schoolmarm. Through weeks and weeks of badgering, she convinced my father that what little money I could earn through teaching would not be enough to support myself, and thus I would be dependent upon them for the rest of my life; that I would be alone and unloved once they passed away. So, reluctant as he might have been to push me away from chasing knowledge, he urged me to accept the proposal."

She paused for a fraction of a moment – just long enough to give _me_ pause – and then continued, "I'd been steadily seeing Charles for almost a year by the time he proposed. He'd always been a mercurial personality – hot one minute and cold the next – but he was devastatingly handsome, with dark hair and eyes and the sort of chiseled features that made your heart melt. And I did love him – well, as much as any _'fresh-off-the-farm'_ seventeen year old _can_ love someone," her eyes flitted over to me for a moment, apology riding in their ochre depths. "I'm sorry. I meant no offense."

"None taken," I dismissed her statement. It wasn't like it was an exaggeration. Besides, I felt like it was an appropriate jab. Even old and world-wise as I was, I'd acted no less naïve with Edward than she apparently had with her teenaged love.

She stared at me for a brief moment before continuing, "Even so, I waited a year before setting a date. Charles and I were wed shortly after my twentieth birthday – still a bit too late for my mother's liking, but more in line with my own. Things were good for a while. We purchased a small plot of land – with help from both our families – and built ourselves a home. Charles set in and began working the land and I set to keeping the house.

"But the peace wasn't long-lived. It wasn't nine months from our wedding day the first time he hit me," her voice had grown cold, clinical.

I blinked, not really surprised by the declaration of abuse – her foreshadowing had been leading there pretty clearly – but more by the way she seemed able to _detach_ from the memory.

"It started like so many such situations do – with a simple argument. You see, many of our peers were also married and settled down. Our difference was that I had not yet become pregnant – unlike a few of the more recent couples. From the very beginning, Charles – not to mention my mother – had made it abundantly clear that we should be trying for children. It didn't matter that we were barely scraping by – or that we hadn't even begun to repay the loan my father had given us for our house. All that mattered was that we kept up with the Joneses – well, the _Johnsons_, actually. William Johnson and his wife Amelia were the _'it'_ couple back then; and Bill was Charles' best friend in primary."

She shook her head, seeming to realize that she'd veered off-track, "Anyway, like I said, I was still stubbornly without child. At the time, it wasn't something I worried about. I was sure God would provide us a child, when the time was right; we just needed to be patient. Plus, I still secretly hoped that Charles would relent and allow me to attend school – even if it was a far-fetched hope. The problem was that Charles was not a patient man.

"On that first night, he came home in a sour mood. One of the plough horses had thrown a shoe mid-line and so he'd only been able to get half of what he wanted to do done – not to mention having to spend twelve dollars at the Ferrier to have the mare re-shoed and the cracked plough repaired." She paused, looking at me skeptically, "I know that twelve dollars doesn't sound like much money now but, in 1916, it was a fair chunk of change. Charles and I could eat for half a month on that much money."

I nodded, trying to look bewildered and surprised. The _wonders_ of inflation weren't a new concept for me – I'd often found myself internally lamenting how much things today cost. No, what I was focused on was something else entirely: _1916_. Esme's husband had started abusing her just two short years before both Edward and I had met our untimely ends at the hands of vampires. 1916. Just a few short months before I brought a twenty-foot tall barn door down on top of my innocent, unsuspecting, six year old cousin. 1916. The last year my life could have been even remotely compared to _'normal'_.

It took the sound of her voice's return to cool, lecturing tones to bring me back into the folds of her tragic tale.

"He sat down, tossing his dirty brow-cloth down on my perfectly clean table, his muddy boots dragging in the muck I'd spent all morning trying to expel from our neat little three-room house. Without even a 'hello', he demanded to know when dinner would be done. Recognizing his mood, I brought him a glass of lemonade and told him that the roast would be about an hour. He grumbled something under his breath about me lazing about and not having dinner ready when he got home. I apologized and tried to head back off to the stove – _'Out of Sight, Out of Mind'_ sort of mentality.

"He had other plans, though. One of his favorite ways to blow off steam was …," she paused, looking at me in a way which made me think she _might_ have been blushing, if she were physically capable of it.

I stared at her, not sure why she would be so uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Well … you see …," she cleared her throat. "He liked to _exercise_ his husbandly duties …." She spoke quietly.

It took me a second before I caught her drift. When I did, however, I could feel heat rushing up and coloring my neck and cheeks with enough red to cover both our embarrassments, "Oh." I looked down.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat again, "I had begun my menstrual cycle earlier that morning and so told him that I couldn't. When he asked why – and I told him – he became angry. He started yelling at me, telling me I was useless – that he hadn't signed up for a barren wife. I told him it wasn't anything to worry about – give it time. I was sure I'd conceive soon. He told me that I'd better start praying harder because this sure as Hell wasn't his fault, it was mine. I became defensive and told him that it wasn't exactly something I could do anything about.

"We screamed back and forth for minutes and, somehow, he got it into that dark, twisted head of his that I was actively doing something to keep myself from becoming pregnant. The thought had never crossed my mind, of course – I'd been raised a Catholic and that sort of thing was just not done. It was such an insulting accusation that I lost my temper and told him he was delusional.

"And that's when he hit me. It came out of nowhere, just a swift blow from the backside of his right hand across my cheekbone," her pale hand came up and absently caressed the right side of her face.

"He didn't hold anything back, just let me have it. It was so powerful, so unexpected, that he knocked me backwards into the hot stove; the palm of the hand I used to catch myself got badly scalded by the burner I was boiling water on," her other hand clenched itself closed reflexively, as though in memory of the pain.

She shook herself, "Anyway. I screamed – there wasn't really anything else _to_ do – and began crying. And Charles …." She paused, hatred flashing across the faintly glowing metallic sheen of her eyes. "For a long minute, he just stood there, like some sort of stone statue – like he didn't know what to do; his mouth floundering open and closed like a beached fish. Then he just turned around and left."

My mouth popped open in surprise. I didn't know what I'd been expecting; maybe for him to have been one of those really rare and true monsters – the kind that would have given _Him_ a run for the money. But he wasn't. That didn't make him a good person – far from it. Nor did it forgive what he'd done to Esme. I suppose I'd just been expecting … _worse._

"He didn't come home that night and I was gone not long after dawn. By breakfast, I was back at my family home. Neither seriously injured nor willing to subject myself and my family to the scorn and scrutiny of the neighbors, I refused to let my mother summon a doctor to tend my burned hand and broken lip. Moreover, I begged my father not to kill Charles – he'd gone for the shotgun the instant he'd returned from the fields, even without knowing what precisely had happened. The marks on my face were enough for him. Despite what Charles had done to me, I still loved him and I couldn't condone his murder. Instead, I hid and healed in the feigned privacy of my childhood home.

"Eventually, my mother weaseled out of me what had happened. She was, of course, surprised and disgusted by what Charles had done. However, that sympathy didn't take long to erode." She sighed heavily, "Two days after I arrived, Charles showed up at my parents' home, a bouquet of flowers in his hands and tear-reddened eyes. I refused to see him, unable to bring myself to so simply reconcile with someone who'd hurt me so badly. It mattered not how fervently he decried his apology nor his undying love – relayed, of course, through my mother. I could not live in a house where I feared for my safety. In my head, I had all but decided to seek a divorce."

Nodding my head almost absently, I silently, yet wholeheartedly, agreed with her sentiment. I would not have stayed either – regardless of how beautiful the man might have been.

"_Almost_," the word was quiet – too quiet. "I had never attributed patience to Charles before then; however, his persistence was to be commended. He showed up on my doorstep every single day, a freshly-picked bouquet in hand and a lovelorn, apologetic letter tucked into his coat pocket. Despite refusing to see him, my mother loyally passed on his gifts and letters, laying them across my pillow each night before bed so that I could not miss them. After a week of her needling, I capitulated and read them.

"They were absolutely beautiful. He'd always had a gift with words – be they written or spoken. He would proclaim how wrong he'd been, how sorry he was to have done it, how much he loved and missed me … how much he couldn't live without me. Still, I felt his words insufficient recompense for the actions he had taken. And so I continued to reject him; all the while reading his letters, allowing them to eat away at my resolve to dissolve our union.

"But never had a man a more complicit accomplice than Charles found in my mother. In the daylight hours, while my father worked, my mother would badger me about reconciling with my estranged husband. She would proclaim him utterly contrite and remind me of the love _I_ had proclaimed to feel for him just a few weeks prior. By the end of my second week of sanctuary, she had worn me down enough that I consented to see him again."

She shook her head, exasperated, "When he showed up for that first meeting, he did his best to remind me of everything I loved about him. He combed his hair the way I'd always liked best and brought me pale pink gladiolas – which he knew where my favorite. He was sweet, attentive, and unerringly attritional. And, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I let the effort work. By the end of an hour, I'd acquiesced to another rendezvous. And from then on, it was only a matter of time. At the end of a month, I had moved back home with him."

I _tried_ not to let my frown of disappointment reach my lips. After all, it wasn't like I hadn't been expecting this outcome. Her lead-up would have been rather exaggerated if that had been the only time he'd struck her. Not to mention the fact that those sorts of things tended to snowball more often than not. Still, I felt it wasn't my place to judge her decision to return to such a man. I'd made my own mistakes, after all.

"For a while, things went back to the way they had been in our honeymoon days. Charles was sweet, understanding, and desperately romantic - bringing me flowers, writing me little love notes - he even stopped yelling at me altogether. And, as the days went by, I began to feel like he truly was a changed man.

"However, that didn't last for very long - as you can imagine. In the early spring of 1917, my father suffered a major stroke while out tending the fields. His workers carried him back to the house but, by the time the doctor arrived, the damage had already been done." Her voice had begun to tremble ever so slightly, her posture taking on a more introverted sag. She paused, taking in a deep, somewhat ragged breath, "For days we waited for him to wake up, unsure of what to expect when he did. When he finally did, things were much worse than even the doctor had suspected. Not only was my father unable to use his legs - unable to walk - but he was also unable to talk. The most he could do was gargle out incoherent sounds reminiscent of a baby's babbling."

While she'd spoken, her left hand had drifted upward; its fingers hovering shakingly above her painted lips in a pose I knew all too well: shocked grief. She seemed unaware of the posture, her yellow eyes blankly staring off into the distance.

"I was devastated. While I'd always gotten on - in one way or another - with my mother, I had ever been my father's daughter. His little girl. And now …," her breathing caught in a way very reminiscent of a sob. "You know, even after all these years, I can still remember the last words he said to me: 'He doesn't deserve you, Esme.'" She half-chuckled in a wry way. "I guess he was right."

Silence fell between us. The kind of silence heavy with memory and pain. A silence neither of us was a stranger to. She'd lost her father at a time she desperately needed him. So, too, had I lost my aunt. The only difference had been in the aftermath. My family had died a horrifying, yet swift death. Esme's father, however, had lingered. His body there despite the absence of everything that had made him what he had once been. A hollow echo.

"I …," I cleared my throat. "I'm so sorry, Esme."

She blinked, her head shaking in a clearing motion, "It wasn't your fault, but thank you." She reached out, absently, and patted the knee which was closest to her. "Anyway, that's not the point. My father's _condition_ was a very difficult and stressful one for me. While my mother had lost her husband, I had lost not only my father but also my best friend. I began having troubles at home. At first, it was just losing periods of productive time to uncontrolled bouts of crying. After a while, however, that turned into nightmares and then insomnia; which, eventually, lead to forgetting things and clumsiness.

"In the beginning, Charles seemed to understand the hardships I was under. He didn't make comments or complain about my erratic behavior; instead allowing me time to grieve. But after a few days, he began to lose his patience with me. It started out as snide, 'not quite aimed at me' comments about how little had gotten done around the house or how tired he was because it was hard to sleep next to a sobbing woman. By the end of a week, however, those comments began to be aimed directly at me.

"Things slowly progressed back to where they had been before the first time he'd hit me. We were fighting constantly and there never seemed to be anything I could do right. Every time I'd forget something, he'd complain about how I could _never_ remember anything. Any time I stubbed my toe or tripped over something he'd left strewn on the floor, he'd tell me how I was _always_ so clumsy. Little things that began to eat at my self confidence. It didn't help that I _still_ wasn't pregnant."

She paused for a breath, "The second time he hit me, it wasn't quite as surprising as it had been the first time. While cleaning up after dinner, I lost my hold on a serving plate his mother had given us as a wedding present and dropped it to the floor. The beautiful china platter shattered into a million pieces. When he came in and saw the mess, he started screaming at me. He grabbed me by the arm, shaking me like a rag doll, and telling me how worthless I was; worked himself into a right state. When I tried to apologize, it seemed to infuriate him even more. He slapped me hard enough to make my head spin before throwing me to the floor and demanding I pick up each and every last piece of the plate. Crying, scared, and hurt, I did as I was told; the tiny shards of china pricking and cutting my fingers until they bled.

"I _should_ have run back home again the next morning, but I didn't. Not because I didn't think she would _want _to help me but because I just couldn't bring myself to place any more burden onto my mother's already overburdened shoulders. Besides, I'd begun to think perhaps this particular incident _was_ my fault. Like the last time, Charles apologized profusely the next day - again proclaiming it would never happen again. He told me that he hadn't wanted to hit me, that he'd just been so upset at the loss of his mother's gift that he'd been driven out of his mind. And, stupid as it was, I believed him."

I frowned, part of me feeling like I wished _I_ could shake that young, naïve version of Esme – shake some sense into her. But still, I said nothing.

"From then on, things continued to get worse. Partially, I believe, because I _hadn't_ walked out on him like the first time. In his mind, I must have condoned his actions, given them credence and authority. For a few months, the _incidences_ remained isolated and rather rare; the empty voids filled with increasingly vitriolic emotional and verbal tirades. Each and every time, I managed to convince myself that I shouldn't foist my problems onto my poor mother. And so, each and every time I stayed. After a while, the psychological abuse did its job, and I began to believe that his outbursts - both physical and verbal - _were_ my fault. That, if I'd just work harder, stop forgetting things and being so clumsy, that he wouldn't have a _reason_ to hit me.

"However, the more I _tried_ to be perfect, the farther away I got. The added stress made me even more clumsy and forgetful than before; resulting in _more_ lost tempers and beatings and therefore more injuries and, hence, less productivity. The cycle perpetuated itself over and over and over again.

"Until early summer, that is. I don't really remember _what_ I had done to put Charles in such a foul mood - though, by then, it could have been as little as sneezing - but I _do_ remember the beating. I remember it because it was particularly painful and brutal. For weeks I had been walking on eggshells, trying my best to do everything right - even more so than usual, by that point. You see, I had missed my menstruation cycle several weeks earlier and suspected I was finally pregnant. As many of our _issues_ still seemed to revolve around my apparent barrenness, I had hope that reaching this highly-desired milestone would change everything for us. I just needed to wait for a few more weeks - long enough that the evidence of our last _incident _was sufficiently faded - and then I could go to the doctor's office and know for sure.

"I didn't make it that long, though. Like I said, I don't remember what brought about that particular beating. However, I do remember the pain. By then, Charles had graduated from simply slapping and shaking to full-on beatings. He'd punch me, kick me, even burn me. This time started like usual with some basic slapping. Terrified of losing my baby - and possibly reacting with the instincts of motherhood - I huddled in on myself and tried to protect my stomach. I begged him not to hit me there, but that had only ever worked as an invitation before. Enraged that I was working to hinder his _'progress'_, he forced me up, tied me to a kitchen chair, gagged me with a washcloth, and began to mercilessly beat me; focusing the brunt of his brutality on my stomach. All the while deriding me for my _barrenness_."

She paused again, this time seeming to do so in order to give _me_ time to gather myself. And I had needed it. The descriptions she was relaying about her husband's abuses were far too similar to ones I'd been subjected to during my early years in Italy. I vividly recalled being tied down and gagged, being punched and kicked, being cut and burned. The only difference here was that Esme had not been bitten.

It took several moments for me to compose myself - at least externally. There was likely no way I would be able to do so internally. We had far too much in common for that to take place during any brief respite.

When she saw my face return to a more reasonable pallor and my jaw relax from its bulldog-like clench, she continued, "He left me there the whole night, left me tied to that chair and gagged so that he could get some sleep in the next room. I, of course, couldn't sleep. During the beating, I'd felt something … _give_ in my lower abdomen; a sort of release of tension that was anything but a release. It wasn't long after he'd retired that I felt the first pangs of cramps, the first flow of blood beginning to seep down between my legs."

She paused again, seeming to decide something, "By morning, I knew I had lost the baby. My dress and the chair beneath me were soaked with blood, and the pain in my lower stomach had begun to fade.

"When he came out of the bedroom and saw the mess, he sneered at me. As he untied me, he told me how he was going to seek a divorce, if I didn't conceive soon. How he'd make sure the whole town - the whole _state_, if he could manage it - knew I was a useless, barren woman. How he'd be sure to ruin me. And then he left, ordering me to clean up the mess I'd made. He had absolutely no idea what he'd done."

She cleared her throat, her voice returning to a clinical tone once more, "I knew, then, that I couldn't do it - that I couldn't risk bringing a child into the same house as my monster of a husband. More so, though, I was sure I _wanted _for him to seek that divorce. Even if he managed to tarnish my reputation, it would be worth it just to be free of him. And so I made up my mind. I went against twenty-one years of teachings and beliefs, cleaned myself and the house up, and went to the apothecary to get some pennyroyal tea leaves. And from that morning on, I drank a cup a day as a means of birth control."

Part of me – a distant and far-gone part – internally cringed at her declaration; not so much because _I_ found it so reprehensible, but because my Catholic upbringing made it a taboo subject and practice. It wasn't that I didn't sympathize, even _agree_ with her choice – I did. However, that small piece of my past had this tendency to spring up and rear its theological head often enough to make me feel awkward.

"Things got worse, as time went on. Charles' temper grew shorter and shorter as his blows grew stronger and stronger. Until, one day, he took a _routine _beating too far. Up until that day, I had never sought out a doctor's help in tending to any of my wounds. And, if the choice had been left up to me, I probably wouldn't have done so, even then. I'd grown so disheartened, so cowed, that I had ceased caring about what happened to my body.

"However, as luck – or whatever you might want to call it – had it, someone else showed up at the house just in the nick of time. Over the last few months, Charles had taken up the habit of beating me senseless whenever my period would begin – whenever my _barrenness_ would prove his continued efforts fruitless. This was one such time. Unfortunately for Charles, though, he'd forgotten that he had arranged for a delivery from one of the stores in town for that afternoon. The men arrived sometime after the worst of the beating had begun – around the time Charles had broken my left arm, or maybe it was my right …," she paused, her face turning down to examine the perfect flesh of her forearms. "It doesn't really matter. The point is, Charles had managed to do some real damage that time – enough that, without medical attention, I would have probably died. If the delivery men hadn't shown up when they did – and if they hadn't been more than large enough to subdue Charles – I probably wouldn't be sitting here today. I lost consciousness sometime after the men had phoned the police and the doctor.

"I woke up in hospital three days later. Now, if I remember correctly, I had two shattered ribs, a fractured cheekbone, one missing and two loose teeth, a broken arm, and was suffering from internal bleeding. Sadly, none of that was sufficiently shocking news for me – I could feel all of the injuries, both individually and compounded as a whole. No, what had really surprised me was the police officer waiting outside my room. At first, I didn't understand _why_ he was there – at first I didn't even recognize him. Though, when he said my name …," she faded off for a moment, her voice taking on a sweeter lilt as she smiled. "Andrew Moore – Sergeant Moore, by then. I'd known him in primary and he'd been a little sweet on me." Her smirk ticked up a notch, but only for a moment.

"Once I recognized him, I thought he was there to visit. But it turned out he was there on official business. He informed me that Charles was being held in a Cleveland jail while the police waited for me to wake up and decide whether I wanted to press charges."

She let out a rueful snort, "Imagine that: pressing charges against my own husband. At first, I was against it – sure Charles would beat the charges anyway and make me pay all the more for them, when he got home. However, in the end – and with a lot of convincing from Andrew – I agreed. What was the worst that could happen? Next time he'd actually manage to kill me? Well, I was already living in Hell so, in a lot of ways, death would have been beneficial." Her long fingers brushed at a strand of her caramel hair as she took a moment to think.

"It was two weeks before I was deemed well enough to sit in court. And Lord did I make a spectacle, I can tell you. The courtroom had seen its share of battered wives before; but none so grievously injured as I. The whole of the proceedings took less than three days. Andrew, my mother, and the two delivery men from the general store testified against Charles. Of course, Charles' best friend, Bill Johnson, came as a character witness for the defense, but that made little difference. Being too afraid of my husband to agree to take the stand, my testimony was in the form of my presence. Every cut, every bruise, every cast and bandage told the truth of what had happened to me. And the thin white scars and burn marks gave evidence of how long the _incidents_ had been going on." She sniffed in an amused sort of way, "The verdict was obvious – at least to those on the prosecution's side of the room. Guilty. Charles was convicted of Assault in the First Degree. When it came time for sentencing, Judge Welles spent two whole minutes telling Charles how despicable he thought he was – how whatever sentence he could give would not be enough to compensate for the hurt he had caused me. However, he was not a completely heartless man. He would offer Charles a choice: Two years in jail or enlistment in the Army to serve out the remainder of the War. Either way, they'd teach him to have some respect."

It took me a few seconds before I could pinpoint which war she was referring to. Of course: World War I. The same war my family had been dealing with, when we'd set out for Italy. Somewhat recent history lessons returned to memory, reminding me that America had joined the Allies in the early spring of 1918. It wasn't until she started speaking again that I remembered the other half of that equation: the War had ended in November of that same year.

"You can't imagine how relieved I was, when Charles' lawyer accepted the enlistment. We had already lost a handful of men from the surrounding area in the War. The chances were good that I would soon be a widow. That I would be free of him forever."

She shook her head, almost absently, "But it was not to be so. I had less than a year of freedom before the fighting ended and Charles came home."

She sighed, "And he came home even worse than he'd been, when he'd left. The months of training and battle had changed him for the worse. He had terrible nightmares and would go into a rage with almost no provocation. The worst part of it, though, was that he blamed _me_ for the hardships he'd faced. If I hadn't been such a stupid, worthless, clumsy, barren woman, he wouldn't have had to beat me – and, hence, he wouldn't have had to go into the Army. Moreover, he'd gone five whole months without _access_ to his wife – and with strict oversight from his commanding officers due to his _situation_."

She paused, her eyes finally returning to focus on me, "I won't burden you with the details, but to say this: Anger and desire are two emotions best left strangers. What with the rationing and shortages caused by funding the war efforts – and the loss of a substantial amount of my household income due to my husband's absence – I had ceased taking the pennyroyal emmenagogue that I had once relied upon to aid in my continued barrenness.

"Within a year of his return, I found myself once again with child."

I cringed, my mind immediately jumping back to what had happened during her previous pregnancy.

"This time, though, I could not sit by and wait for my husband to kill yet another unborn child. The beatings had picked right back up where they'd left off and there was no sign of their cessation. With my father having passed on during the last months of the War and my mother now living out west with an aunt, I had nothing left to tie me to my home. Thus I had nothing to lose by leaving it.

"And so I ran. I took every last penny we had out of the savings account, packed a small bag, and boarded a train the very same day that my condition was confirmed by a doctor. I left no note and told no one where I was going. I simply showed up on the doorstep of a cousin I had in Milwaukee.

"Mary and Harold didn't ask many questions – I'm sure between the bruises on my body and the information they'd no-doubt heard from her mother, they were both pretty much _in the know_ about my situation. When I informed them of my _condition_, they understood all they cared to.

"Unfortunately, my sanctuary with them was short lived. Within two months, Charles showed up demanding I come home. Luckily for me, Harold was home on that day and refused to let my _husband_ drag me out of the house, kicking and screaming. Instead, they packed me up, gave me some money, and escorted me back to the station so that I could board a train out of town. It was a risk – all of us knew it; but they were good people and had no desire to see me return to such a life.

"From there, I wound up in Ashland; a place I had no relations, no connections, no one who even knew my name. And so I took the opportunity to reinvent myself. I became Anne Moore – electing to use my middle name and the last name of the officer who'd tried so desperately to help me out of a terrible situation – a War Widow. Between the money I'd spirited away from my husband and the little bit my cousin had supplied, I found myself able to seek my teaching credentials at a local college. I set up working in a local shop and rented a small one-bedroom apartment to keep up the ruse. As the months progressed and my pregnancy began to show, I grew more and more comfortable with my situation. Despite the mismatched timing of my current pregnancy and the end of the war, no one asked any questions. To them, I was a War Widow; my baby the child of a hero. Nothing more, nothing less."

The corners of her red lips ticked up into a smile, "For a blessed few months, I was happy. But I should have known that things couldn't go on being easy. As I had already learned, Charles was not so much patient as he was persistent. Eventually, he found me again. I'm not sure how – or, more specifically, _who_; but that matters little, now. One evening, when I was on my way home from work, I spotted him storming up the steps leading into my little apartment building. If I hadn't been held up talking to one of the other ladies, I would have been at home when he'd arrived."

Her voice teetered off into silence, like she was contemplating how close she had come to true doom. When she resumed, her tone was more matter-of-fact, "I made a split second decision, when I saw him. Everything I owned was in the house – my clothes, my papers, _everything_. But there was no way in Hell I was going to risk my six-month-pregnant self – and my child – to the fury of that man. So, instead, I hailed a taxi and had it take me to a local hotel. I rented a room with the measly funds I had in my purse, went upstairs, and placed a long-distance phone call to the Cleveland City Police Department. When the dispatcher answered, I asked for Sergeant Moore."

With a sigh, she continued, "It took a little while before they were able to get him on the phone. When they did, however, I explained to him who I was and what was going on; the pregnancy, the running, Charles, everything. Then I asked him to help me. And, for a wonder, he agreed. He told me that there wasn't much he could do to _keep _Charles in lockup for more than a night, but he could give me that long to get my things and get out of there.

"And he was true to his word. Somehow – and I'm not entirely sure _how _he managed it – he convinced the police to pick Charles up for breaking and entering and disturbing the peace," she chuckled a little ruefully. "I waited until the coast was clear before heading back to my apartment. A lot of my things were destroyed, however – yet more victims of Charles' temper. But I gathered up what I could salvage and brought it back to the hotel. The next morning, I had made arrangements to move to a different part of the city."

She cleared her throat, "It didn't work very well. I spent the next few months constantly moving from place to place, rarely staying somewhere long enough to even unpack my suitcase. Sleep came in fitful spurts – if it came at all – and the stress took a harsh toll on my body and that of my unborn son.

"However, in the end, Charles won. The emotional and physical strain of trying to stay one step ahead of him all the time resulted in my entering labor nearly three weeks early."

Her face had grown still – _too still_. The kind of still I'd come to associate with her kind. The kind that usually accompanied stressful situations.

"That's where Charles finally caught up to us – in hospital. It turned out that my mother had been feeding him information about my whereabouts as my pregnancy progressed. At the time, I hated her for it. But, looking back, I can't say that I blamed her. She hadn't been trying to be malicious – well, not _exactly_. She just thought that a child should have the benefits of both parents, whenever possible. And, in her mind, spousal abuse was not something which necessarily precluded that possibility."

She fell silent, her yellow eyes seeming far away and _empty_. For the first time in a while, I couldn't really relate to anything she'd said. Oh, I'd been through the running, the hiding – the fear and insomnia; but I hadn't ever suffered the kind of betrayal she was speaking of. Sure, what Edward had done to me had been wrong; but it just wasn't on the same level as what her mother had done to her – maliciously or not.

"Anyway," she smoothed her dress and softly cleared her throat, "Levi was born with _complications_. The stress and fatigue I'd been under – not to mention his early delivery – had resulted in some rather severe breathing problems for him." Her voice was very clinical again, almost lecturing. "The doctors did all they could, but it was doomed from the start. My little boy died nearly two days later of the lung fever he'd been born with."

My mouth popped open silently. I wanted to say something – to tell her that it wasn't _her _fault that her baby had died. Her husband was to blame. If he'd just left well enough alone, things would have been different – _could _have been. All that came out, though, was a woefully underwhelming 'I'm sorry'.

Esme nodded, but made no verbal comment; instead continuing with her story. "We buried him in a cemetery on the outskirts of town, in a plot overlooking Lake Superior. It took nearly all the money I had stashed away from my work at the shop, but I wouldn't settle for less. He'd had a painful, turbulent, and short life. His resting place would at least be peaceful."

She faded off for a moment again, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly, "At any rate, there I was: no baby but no less stuck with the same monster for a husband as before. And that was what decided it for me. I just couldn't do it anymore – couldn't _live _like that anymore. I'd lost everything that ever mattered to me: my father, my home, my baby, and now I could no longer trust my mother – another loss, of a sort. I was stuck, between a rock and my husband's fists; and I just couldn't go on.

"And so I waited for the service to be over – waited to say my final goodbyes. Then I walked over to the cliffs to stare out at the rocky beach and cold grey waters below. I remember hearing Charles bark an order at me – something about 'we're leaving'. But I ignored him. I stood there, breathing in the glacial air, and praying. I prayed to the Holy Mother to watch over the soul of my son, to guide him and give him love. And I prayed for forgiveness; forgiveness for the lies I had told, for the things I had done, for the people I'd let down. But I did not ask for forgiveness for what I was planning to do – there would be no absolution for that.

"And then, when I was done praying, I jumped."

I stared down at my own hands resting in my lap, trying to swallow past the thickness of grief and unease that had built up inside my throat. I didn't really know what to say, anymore – I wasn't sure there was anything I was _supposed _to say. Before I had time to think on it, though, she picked up again.

"I don't remember hitting the ground – or even the fall, really. The last memory I have of my human life is staring out across the water and finishing my prayer. I'm not exactly sure why that particular memory stuck with me, except perhaps that, for the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid," her alto voice drifted off for a moment in contemplation, a whimsical irony tingeing its tone. "Anyway, I _do_ remember what happened next, though."

She paused again, this time in a considering way.

"Has Edward told you anything about our transformations – about what happens, when we turn from human to vampire?"

I shook my head, refusing to meet her eyes. It wasn't that I was lying – not _exactly._ Edward hadn't really told me much; just some passing comments about pain. But that didn't mean I didn't _know_. I had firsthand experience, after all. Well, _almost_. The myriad pairs of crescent-shaped marks on my body were proof enough of that. Each one represented an attempt to force a transition upon me. Each one represented a failure of my body to submit.

Her pause extended just a fraction of a second longer than it should have; like she somehow knew that I wasn't being entirely truthful. Even so, she continued on as though my reaction had been genuine.

"I think it's probably best that he be the one to discuss that with you. It's a deeply _personal_ experience – one that leaves a unique mark upon each who goes through it. Still, I will say this: It's such a powerful and profound experience that it often eclipses everything that came before. Most of us come through the process with little to no memory of what our human lives were like. In fact, most lose any sense of _who_ they were before the transition. Without that base, that sense of self, they lose all connection with their humanity; becoming beasts of instinct and desire. They become monsters."

Without really meaning to do so, I nodded my head in agreement. _That_ was the type of vampire I was used to encountering. _That_ was the type of vampire Edward had been. _That_ was the part of himself he'd tried to hide from me.

"Some of us, though – a very select few – somehow manage to hold on to portions of ourselves, despite the transformation. We come through with memories, with baggage. But even those memories do not emerge unscathed. There is a unifying theme with all of us who retain memories from our mortal lives. Those memories represent periods of extreme emotional impact upon us – stress, love, anger, joy. Points in our lives which came to shape the people we were.

"And, if we hold onto those memories hard enough during our first years, we will remember them forever. If we don't, they fade away."

This time, when she paused, it was unexpected. I wasn't really sure what she was getting at. Looking at her face didn't help either. Her expression clearly said that I was meant to glean something important from her declaration. So, feeling sufficiently awkward – and a little irritated at her expectation of understanding – I put a confused look on my face and prodded her for a little help, "Um ... okay ..."

"I had to _hold_ onto those memories, Lillie."

"Uh-huh." And the point of that was...?

She sighed, "I keep forgetting how new you are to all of this – how little experience you have with us." Her smile was meant to be conciliatory, to take the sting out of her words. "I keep forgetting that you don't have to worry about the things we do."

I arched a dark eyebrow toward my hairline, "About _what_ exactly?"

"About maintaining your privacy – your secrets."

I tried not to, but I felt the cold wash over my complexion; felt the _pale_ of worry and strain settle into my features.

For what felt like the longest second of my life – well, of the last hour – she looked at me; those amber eyes taking in my tense stance and pallor with a calculated measure. In the end, though, she simply smiled reassuringly at me, "It's all right, Lillie. I don't hold it against you – none of us do. Every single one of us has things in our pasts we'd rather remain there."

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"But that's the problem, you see? You're the only one who really gets to have that luxury."

I was about to protest, to challenge her assertion, when her meaning finally sank in.

_Oh._

"The rest of us have to share ourselves – our secrets, our innermost thoughts – with someone else."

"With Edward," I chimed in, feeling a little ashamed for not having seen it before. Maybe it was because his telepathy wasn't an obstacle or topic often encountered during the everyday interactions we'd engaged in during the previous week. Then again, maybe it was because I really didn't want to think about how alike we truly were...

She nodded, "Yes. Whether we mean to or not – whether _he_ means to or not – Edward sees and hears pretty much every single thought or instinct that the rest of us has. The whole world is basically an open book to him. All except for you."

I nodded my head in understanding, my teeth kneading the tender flesh on the inner side of my left cheek.

"So, you see, _that's_ why that portion of Edward's past _is_ my fault."

I tried – I really did – but I still couldn't connect her past to Edward's killing sprees. Whatever it was, I was missing it.

"No, I don't," I confessed, frustrated.

She fell silent for the span of a couple heartbeats before explaining, the emptiness filled by the far-off rumble of distant thunder. "When I woke up, the first thing I remembered was the look on Charles' face the first time he hit me. As I'm sure you can imagine, that essentially opened the floodgate for me. Nearly everything I have told you about my past came rushing back to me in a deluge of pain and anger and fear.

"_That_ is the first thing I experienced in this life – a concentrated infusion of the worst memories and emotions I had from my life. Being a new vampire, I felt them more intensely that I ever could have as a human. The first true emotion I felt as a vampire was hatred. And, like most of my kind, I held on to the familiarity of it for dear life."

I nodded my head once to show I understood – both the what and _why_. If that had been my first memory, I probably would have done the same.

She faintly shook her head, "No. I _held_ onto it – to the memories, the anger. I let them consume me. For months and months, I spent nearly all my time reliving them. For nearly a year, I honed and shaped my hatred into a fine tool – a lash I used to keep the world at bay," She broke off for a moment. When she picked back up, there was a brokenness to her tone that made the words hit harder than they should have. "What I failed to realize was that my hatred was working to create something both far more effective and infinitely more devastating than I ever could have imagined."

I waited, hoping she would elaborate without prodding. Intuitively, I understood that her statement was not the sort of thing that would respond well to provocation. Perhaps, too, I was remiss to hear what I subconsciously knew was coming.

"I still hate him – Charles; even after all this time. Occasionally, I find myself _remembering_ the things he did to me. To this day, it finds a way to rekindle the flames of the hatred I bear toward him. No matter how many times I try to staunch it, the coals will ever smolder on. I will carry that hatred with me for the rest of my days. And, while it is not an easy burden to bear, it weighs on me like a feather when compared to the guilt I carry as a result of what I did to my son," her marble face dipped downward, gleaming caramel curls washing forward to conceal her face from view, as a stone hand swept up to wipe at non-existent tears.

After a moment, she sat back upright, squaring her shoulders in a defiant way and wearing an unreadable expression, "I never meant to torture Edward with those memories – to make him relive, over and over, the abuse I had experienced in my human life. But that makes little difference, now. Whether I meant to or not, I forced my burden onto the shoulders of someone who was too young and inexperienced to bear it. And, in so doing, I turned a caring, protective young man into a vengeful harbinger of death.

"Intentional or not, I allowed the hatred I harbored to drive my son to enact bloody revenge against the man who had tortured me in life. If I had known ...," she broke off again. "No, that's not really true. Despite the passage of years between my mortal death and the day he died, I had lost little - if any – of the burning hatred I bore my husband. I'd like to think, had I known, that I would have stopped Edward from killing Charles – would have tried to save him from beginning the downward spiral that drove him to seek out and feed from the dredges of society in an ill-conceived desire to see justice done. But I cannot. I was not the same person back then as I am now. Even knowing what Edward had done on my behalf, it took years before my conscience caught up with me; before the guilt over what I had done settled in."

"That's why you come here, isn't it?" The question was only one of a dozen flitting through my mind at that moment. When she'd started her grand tale, I'd mistakenly assumed that she harbored anger toward the man who'd turned her. I'd failed to see the greater picture: that Esme's tragic story had not ended with the loss of her humanity, but rather had been complicated by it. Had she simply died that day, things today might have been very different.

"Yes."

For the briefest of moments, I felt anger surge within me; anger at Esme for her weakness, her inability to let bygones be bygones. If she'd only let her past die with her, Edward would never have murdered that first time. He would have never have had to lie to me. If only she'd moved on sooner ...

But those emotions didn't last long. They were soon overshadowed by sorrow and empathy. How could I blame Esme for holding onto her hatred, when _I_ couldn't let go of my own? I was no less guilty of the sin of Wrath than she was.

"Why?" It wasn't the most pressing question, but I was having a hard time putting any of the others into words.

"To make confession and seek forgiveness."

I blinked, the other thoughts in my head momentarily scattered to the winds, "Confession? You make confession?"

She nodded.

"To a priest?" _That_ could be ... problematic.

She sighed resignedly, "No. The sins I must confess are not for the ears of most mortals and I cannot bring myself to weigh down yet another with my burdens. So my confessions are whispered to emptiness and I pray that God hears them."

"Do you think He does?"

She shrugged, "I hope so. I cannot change what was done, only try to be better and make what atonements I can."

It took me a second before I nodded. Not because I thought she was being ridiculous but because I had to admit – even if only to myself – that I did much the same thing. I _hoped_.

"Lily?" Angela's voice echoed across the gardens as she called to me from the side doorway.

I jumped slightly at the sound, having been so caught up in my quiet conversation with Esme that I'd forgotten the surrounding world, "I'm over here!" I stood up from the bench and motioned for her to come over.

When I turned back to Esme, she was standing; her floral frock blowing gently in the mild breeze.

"I should probably be going," I said quietly.

She nodded, "As should I." Leaning back down, she grabbed up her purse, "I know it's hard for you – especially with your past," she spoke quietly, her words just loud enough for me to hear them over the gravel crunching under Angela's approaching feet, "but I hope you take some time to think on what I've said. None of us can change the past – no matter how much we'd like to. All we _can_ do is try to change ourselves for the better."

I nodded, semi-noncommittally.

She reached out, one cold hand carefully pushing a stray strand of my dark hair out of my face, "And, whatever you choose, just remember that anger isn't worth holding on to. Let it go, before you wake up one morning and find you can't."

Something about the quality of her alto voice and the sincerity burning behind the metallic sheen of her yellow eyes gave me pause. She wasn't speaking as the mother of the boy I'd had a fight with any longer. She was the voice of experience, the voice of pain and regret. For the first time since I met her, I had the distinct and strong feeling that Esme really and truly gave a damn about how I turned out. Whether that included her son or not, she didn't make a distinction.

This time, when I nodded, I meant it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to drop me a review and tell me what you thought (you'll get a preview of the next chapter before it's posted on FFn, if you do).


End file.
